


TMNT: The Heir

by HakuChan_HakuSama



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Bay Movies), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Cross-Posted on Wattpad, F/M, Fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 44,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakuChan_HakuSama/pseuds/HakuChan_HakuSama
Summary: Twenty-two-year-old Maria Thalia Anguren is on the most confusing point of her life. With her father’s sudden decision of anointing her as the family head despite the existence of her half older brother, the series of merciless training from her old man and uncles and the fact that she herself must train her two nephews to become her own personal guards, Thalia must break down every single wall to fully embrace her fate—even though that could mean of seeking help from a band of four mutated turtle creatures…
Comments: 31
Kudos: 1





	1. A/N

Hello, everyone!

So, this is my very first story here… And Imma post here a couple of questions that you guys could possibly ask me in the middle of the run. Well, here goes nothing…

1\. This is your very first book to be published here in Archive of Our Own. Why make a Ninja Turtles fanfic?  
\- Well, peeps… First of all, I am a very big fan of the Turtlemania. When I was still around four or five, I would wake up early during Saturdays (much to my parents’ confusion) just for me to watch my most beloved Turtles on TV. Along with the fact that I once had four pet red-eared sliders that I named after our beloved mutants. And that I would always feed them pizza (much to my parents’ dismay)!  
2\. Who’s your favorite Turtle in the team?  
\- To be honest? I… I don’t know. I mean, I like them all! Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo… All of them! Making me choose one is enough to bring tears to my eyes! Don’t make me do it, please!  
3\. Have you ever written anything before?  
\- Yep, I have. Novels… One-shots… Heck, even poetry! My classmates and teachers in junior high even went as far as labelling me as the “Poet Queen” of our class because of it, which kinda sucked. I mean, I’m a major tomboy, and having people call me “queen” or “princess” really makes my blood freaking boil. I mean, DUDE! Have some respect, yo!  
4\. Other than TMNT… What other fictional worlds are you really into?  
\- A lot, to be honest. Attack on Titan, Tokyo Ghoul, League of Legends, Frozen, Moana, Big Hero Six, Kingdom Hearts, Fairy Tail, Rise of the Guardians, Epic, Undertale… Welp, you guys already get the point, yeah?  
5\. Who’re the other heroes outside the TMNT universe that you like?  
\- BATMAN, mah dudes! Oh, Raven, too. And Spiderman! Plus the entire Avengers team!  
6\. Who’s your most favorite author?  
\- Rick Riordan all the way. Plus J.K. Rowling.  
7\. What are the songs that you love listening to?  
\- Britney Spears’ “Circus”, Jessie J’s “Do It Like a Dude”, Porcelain Black’s “One Woman Army”, Little Mix’s “Salute” and “Power”, Dove Cameron’s “Born Ready”, “Shell Shocked” from the TMNT 2014 movie, League of Legends’ “K/DA Popstars”, “Get Jinxed”, “Warriors”, “Awaken”, “Legends Never Die”, “Phoenix” and “Rise”, Demi Lovato’s “Confident”, and Marina’s “Bubblegum Bitch” and “How to be a Heartbreaker”.  
8\. Are you planning to make more stories in the future?  
\- Yep. It’s pretty fun to let my imagination run wild, you know.

Okay, so that’s all, I guess? Welp, I hope y’all like my story!

ONWARDS!

P.S.:  
Everything here in this book is purely fictional! If someone exists with the same name or if there’s an occasion that “rhymes” with something in real-life, then it is purely coincidental! I don’t want to freak anyone out, here! Buuuuuut I’ve decided to add a couple of real-life preferences such as the Covid-19 Pandemic and the Black Lives Matter rally, so… Yeah. Almost everything in this book is purely fictional.


	2. 00

Let’s be honest. The moment that cursed Covid-19 Pandemic entered our lives, you’ve decided to celebrate because of the fact that you don’t have to go to school anymore and could just go ahead and sleep the entire day away, right?

Oh, wait! It’s not just that, right? I mean, you also got to laze around in your comfortable pajamas without worrying about makeup or your showy outfit for the day… Watch TV and play video games until the moon comes out… Snooze on the couch after a major text war with your best friend… Munch on your favorite sweets and the like… That’s your daily life in quarantine, right?

Wow, ain’t ya a lucky bastard.

Why am I giving you the cold shoulder? Oh, I thought that it’s already obvious—my life suddenly went downhill the moment the damn virus decided to visit. How? Oh, I’ll tell you how, dude. Just be patient.

My father and his brothers finally decided to take things to a whole new level. I mean, I was a pretty active student when the virus still hasn’t dropped by to say hello to the entire world, so they never got the chance to “raise” me in their “own way” (and I’m telling you, it’s _UGLY_ ). It’s quite obvious that the Pandemic was, by some miracle, a blessing in disguise for the old dudes. You can’t quite get it? Ugh, do I seriously have to tell you _every single darn detail_? You’re impossible, dude! You’re giving me a headache! And I _barely_ get headaches!

We barely get to talk with one another when the days still aren’t pretty…well… _ugly and boring_. I’ve already told you that I was quite the active student, right? Well, if you’re getting the idea, then thank you! You spared me my precious time! If not, then curse you! I ain’t explaining any further, dude! Besides, I got tons of schedules to keep, so I don’t have the time to stay and chat! Figure the rest out for yourself!

Anyway, I’m already in my fourth year in college, which is, of course, pretty hectic and everything. Worse, my father finally decided to “retire” from his position. Why worse? Well, I’m not talking about that retirement-from-work-due-to-age thingy, but the retirement-from-being-the-family-head-because-the-heir-has-finally-come-of-age thingy. Yep, you got that right, fellas. My father decided to retire because I’ve finally turned twenty-two, thinking that now’s the perfect time for me to lead the entire clan.

 _Retire!_ Can you guys imagine it? Me, a young, tomboyish woman of twenty-two, pushed to the very limit by my father and uncles just so that they could eventually enjoy their remaining days basking in the sun! I mean, I was in the middle of preparing for a test when my father announced everything. Luckily for my part, I managed to pass and still got an “A” (heh, lucky, right?) despite the troubles that everyone had put me through after that sudden announcement that neither everyone in the family expected nor felt happy about.

Okay, why did I say that nobody felt happy about my father’s and uncles’ choice of anointing me as the next head of the entire family? Well, first things first: I’m a female. The clan was led by no one else but men for thousands of years—and now, everything’s going to change because of me, a no-good tomboy who did nothing but focus on her studies ever since she first entered junior high. Someone who spends an entire day doing nothing else other than sticking her nose into random books, playing video games, writing her own stories, drawing her own comics and then later on posting it on DeviantArt, and watching random flicks on the Internet.

Yeah, totally a bad choice of an heir, I know. Besides… There’s Michael, my half older brother (“half” ‘cause we got the same dad but have different moms). He’s the one who’s supposed to the one who’s next in line, but meh, fate really does hate me. So much.

I mean, my brother had done a lot of nasty things in the past that instantly caused Dad’s blood to boil to an extent that got his ugly butt kicked out of the family. For good. Well, he’s now got a family of his own. And his kids and I were very close that anyone would think of the four of us as siblings.

And oh, if you’re wondering, his two oldest kids are older than me. Janvier’s around five years or so older than me, while his second, Mikaela, whom we all call “Mikey” for short, is only a couple of blessed months older than me. The youngest one is JC, who just turned seven a few months ago.

Okay, back to the main point!

My father, being the awesome (and terrifying) guy that he always was and will always be, had his… _ways_ …to make people accept me as the new family head. There were a couple of blackmails unleashed here and there, along with a couple of gunshots and unexpected knife-throwing activities (I liked that), which eventually made the people fear my dad and uncles even more than they did before. Worse, they’ve given me the title “Grim Reaper” due to dark, obvious reasons (I’ll tell you those reasons later, don’t worry), but that wasn’t enough for them to dampen my spirits and to make me step down from my current position. In fact, it only made my body’s adrenaline rush pump stronger through my veins. And so, the bumpy ride of my life began.

Well, it’s not really _that_ bumpy. In fact, they’ve been training me ever since I was ten. My younger days went on with me delivering punches, doing some serious badass kicking, “playing” with all sorts of weapons, and firing bullets to random items found at the dump. Heck, I even had my first kill at the young age of thirteen. It was quite easy, I tell you. Especially if your target’s an annoying old fart who’s seven feet taller than you. All it took me was one bullet and a dark, abandoned building. One bullet, and _bam!_ He’s dead.

I successfully shot him square in the forehead with Caramelldansen on full blast through my headphones.

…I’m now guessing that you’re imagining that I did the Caramell Dance as a symbol of my victory (well, good news—I did).

Anyway, if you’re wondering about my ethnicity, I would say that I’m Asian. Well, someone who’s born from a mixture of European and Asian descent, if you want it to be clear. Unfortunately, I inherited most of my Asian ancestors’ genes (well, save for my pale skin tone), so I’m European no more but Asian to the bone.

For some reason, most of my ancestors decided to reside within the tropical country of the Philippines. Well, I wouldn’t dare say that it sucked, I mean, I love the Filipinos. They’re so friendly and cheerful. But… Well… I’ve experienced a couple of thieveries here and there, so yeah. They’re also quite nasty if you’re not careful.

Not that I’m being racist and everything. Oh, well… I guess that everyone’s got an ugly side to them. Everyone including me.

Oh, wait… I need to tell you my name, right? Fine… It’s Maria Thalia Anguren. Nice to meet you.

And this, my friend, is my story on how I met _them_ (ugh, gods that’s so cheesy!)…


	3. 01

“Miss Yoshida!”

“Wha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-at did I do now?” I snapped. Grumbling, I popped a bubble of my favorite mint gum and slammed my mechanical pencil on my desk with a grunt, my throat painfully holding back an animalistic growl as I glared up at my “teacher”, Mrs. Santos, a grumpy old lady of fifty-eight. “Look, ma’am, if this is about me breaking your pet’s nose this morning—”

“I do believe that chewing gum is _strictly_ prohibited on class hours,” she cut me off with a snort, her pink-rimmed cat-eye glasses now sporting a devilish gleam as she stared down at me with her all-time famous humming of disappointment. “Now, honey, if you don’t want me to slap that ugly face of yours with my metal ruler, I’d suggest that you spit it out _right now_.”

Ah, that slap-your-ugly-face-with-my-metal-ruler threat while using that sugar-coated nickname “honey” on you. Always gets the other students big time. The poor, poor kids. So clueless. So naïve.

I sneered at her. “Right now? You mean, _now_?”

“Don’t you dare test my patience, Miss Yoshida!” the old lady barked. She tightened her grip on her prized metal ruler and waved it in front of my face. Just a couple of blessed centimeters away from the tip of my nose. “And yes, my dear, lovely honey. You heard me right! Spit it out, right now, if you don’t want to taste my ruler’s wrath!”

Oh, wow. How old is she, five?

“Yes, Mrs. Santos… I shall spit it out right away,” I nodded with a sigh. I stuck my tongue out, pinched the gum, pulled it away from the said muscle, and dutifully pasted it on the tip of the old lady’s ruler with an innocent grin. “There! All blue and minty! I bet your ruler’s one happy bean, now!”

My classmates gasped in a horrified chorus. I mean, who would be crazy enough to do that to an old lady who’s twice (no, make that thrice—or more) as crazy as the Joker himself? Oh, wait. That’s me. Forget it.

Mrs. Santos was shaking. With a nasty shriek, she raised her ruler high up in the air and swung it down with such force, the metallic material successfully crossing my face with a deafening _SLAP!_

“You!” she roared, her ruler once again swinging in full force and successfully hitting me square in my other cheek with another deafening _SLAP!_ “Principal’s office!” _SLAP!_ “Now!” _SLAP!_

My cheek muscles were now tingling due to the ruthless ruler-slapping, making me a hundred percent positive that I’ll go home today with a bruised face (hope that Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind). I could now feel the strong tension of mixed fear and anger in the air, but still managed a nasty grin as I rolled my eyes at my “teacher”.

“Ugh, the principal’s office again? Seriously, ma’am, why can’t you just let me clean the entire school building until midnight?”

That finally made her snap.

“R-Riza!” one of my classmates squeaked from behind.

“Are you crazy?!” another one hollered.

“You’re digging your own grave!” another one cried out in panic.

“That’s—” a now-seething Mrs. Santos began as she grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me away from my desk with such force that it took me a couple of seconds to recover my footing (and cool). “—it, you little runt! Off into the janitor’s closet you go! And _never_ go out unless it’s already past midnight, you hear me?!”

“W-whoa, ma’am! Chill!” I was now at a loss for words. I already knew that the old lady’s the type of person who loses their temper over the tiniest things, but I never expected that she would go as far as _locking a student up in the janitor’s closet until midnight!_ “I was just kidding! H-hey—ow!”

Tightening her grip on my wrist, Mrs. Santos stomped out of the classroom and into the hallway, her heels echoing against the unlit walls. My classmates could do nothing but watch in sheer horror, their hands glued to their mouths. Her fellow teachers peeked through the cracks of the doors of their respective classrooms as we walked (or she dragged me, rather) past them.

“M-Mrs. Santos!” I squeaked in panic. I could do nothing but watch as she impatiently ordered the poor janitor to unlock the door. “Please! I’m sorry!”

“Too late.” Grinning, the old lady shoved me into the dark room, not wasting another second to slam the door shut before I could even spin around to face her and scream my head off for help.

“Hey!” I screamed whilst trying to kick the door open, my entire body now feeling numb due to the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. “ _Hey!_ Let me out! Can anyone hear me?! Someone! Somebody, please! Help!”

Quite unfortunately for my part, nobody came to my rescue. But, at the same time, it’s also quite… _fortunate_ for me since that I can now…do _things_ that I’m very much aware that no one in this school would ever like.

Leaning my back against the cool wall, I slumped down to the floor in a Yankee sitting position (or the famous _yanki zuwari_ by the Japanese gangsters) as I pulled out my phone from my skirt pocket. I scoffed the moment my eyes landed on the digital clock found stamped on my phone’s lock screen: 09:57 PM. Meh, still a bit early, but at least no one’s stupid enough to walk through the hallways alone due to nyctophobia at this hour.

I let out a grumble as I felt my eyes sting, rubbing and cursing at them a moment later after I felt those nasty tears drip all the way down to my chin.

“Ah, freakin’ contacts,” I snorted as I hastily raised my left hand to my face and carelessly pinched the clear, plastic disc found stuck on my right eye and pulled it away from the said organ, doing the same to the other after a full minute of intense blinking and tear-shedding. “Why am I wearing them, again?”

With a quick _Bye-bye! Don’t need you anymore, so bye!_ while carelessly tossing the toric contact lenses on the floor, my phone buzzed within my grasp. Slowly raising the device to my face to see what my phone’s dying to show me, my throat did a low, nasty growl of discomfort as I saw the word _Daddy_ stamped on the screen.

Shucks, anyone but my father!

Although hesitant, I decided to answer the call. I let out a nervous laugh as I raised the device to my ear and willed myself to endure whatever this call’s going to put me through.

“H-hey, Daddy! I was just about to—”

_**“Have you accomplished your goal?”** _

I sighed. He’s always like that. No _Hello, honey! Are you okay?_ or _Do you want me to send you some help?_ or something similar. He’s just… Just straightforward and harsh.

Heh, what can I say? He’s my dad, after all.

“To be honest, Dad? No. Not yet.” I paused, holding my breath as I waited for his response. When I got nothing, I eventually decided to continue with my dialogue. “One of their goons had me locked up in the janitor’s closet. I… I kind of pissed her off with that gum trick, so… Um…”

_**“Mind your choice of words, Thalia,”**_ my father reminded me, his voice dripping with no-nonsense venom. _**“But that’s enough chatter, my dear. You already told me what I needed to know. And now it’s**_ **my _turn to talk.” ___** __

__I swallowed. “G-go ahead, Daddy. I’m all ears.”_ _

He sighed. _**“Always remember the training that I and your uncles gave you. I know that it’s not your first mission, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, correct?”**_

“Well, yes, but—” 

_**“Now, I want you to act accordingly to the plan,”**_ my father ordered, and judging by the tone of his voice, I could might as well dare say that he’s excited about the possibility of me gaining the upper hand (and when I say excited, I mean _really_ excited—I love my old man!). _**“Every room has an exit. And that exit isn’t always the door. Improvise. I don’t care if you kick a wall down or punch a hole into the ceiling just to get out. As long as no one notices you, then it’ll be all right for you to proceed. Remember, Thalia—you need to complete your mission and leave that place at the very moment the clock strikes midnight. If not, then I’m afraid that you’ll be demoted from your status as the family head.”**_

Oh. So much for a vote of confidence. 

“But Dad…” I rubbed my forehead and sighed. “I’m not initiated, yet.” 

_**“That might be true, yes…”**_ he paused with a thoughtful hum. _**“But who are**_ **you _to judge my choices, Maria Thalia Anguren?”_**

I pressed my lips together into a thin line as I let my father’s words sink in. Quite the harsh choice of words for a father-and-daughter conversation, I know, but I’m afraid that I, of all people, cannot retort even the smallest of wisecracks to my overprotective (and overcontrolling) parent. 

Jeez, I’m such a loser. 

“Forgive me, Father,” I managed, my hand now clenched tightly into a fist as I forced those nasty tears back. “I won’t do that again. I promise.” 

_**“Now go,”**_ he added, obviously ignorant about the emotional pain that I was currently feeling at the moment. _**“And make sure to be back before midnight. Your cousins just came in, carrying a box of your favorite donuts.”**_

I froze, my eyes wide and the emotional pain now completely gone in a flash. “Donuts?” 

I could hear my father snickering from the other line. _**“Yes, Thalia! Donuts! And not to mention pizza, as well! Oh, and chocolates!”**_

“I’ll be back at eleven!” I finally ended the call before my mouth could even start watering. Huffing, I scrambled about within the darkness, my phone’s lit screen serving as my only light source as I searched for the possible means of exit. When I found nothing, I let out an impatient sigh, grabbed the doorknob, and twisted it with so much force that it instantly gave away, thus granting me the much-needed access for an easy exit. 

I then casually strolled out of the janitor’s closet, humming in excitement as I thought about those tasty treats that I’m going to devour once I get home. 


	4. 02

_Ugh, can someone please remind me that I’m suffering nearsightedness with my right eye and farsightedness with the other?_

I rolled my eyes and let out a snort, mentally cursing myself for ditching those super-expensive contacts that one of my cousins got me for my eighteenth birthday as I carefully crept along the dark, empty halls, my heart pounding within my ears whilst random noises of teacher-and-students discussions echoed within the background.

 _Focus on your mission, dude,_ my inner self barked as I hastened my pace to spare time. _Focus on your—OH MY GODS, WHAT THE—?!_

With a few hushed curses, I quickly turned to my right and dove into the nearest corner that I managed to find at the last minute. Look, I know that enrolling yourself into a school that offers nothing but classes in the middle of the night was a pretty nasty idea, but at least the darkness has successfully proven itself to be quite useful.

Zipping my black hoodie up to my chin to hide my white school blouse and pulling the baggy hood over my head, I curled myself into a semi-ball, my back pressed uncomfortably against the cold wall and the lower part of my face connected to my kneecaps like some kind of magnet. My eyes were covered by my thick bangs as I stayed still and watched, grimacing the moment things became…well… _ugly._

It was George Kriss, that annoying, good-for-nothing blond Australian exchange student whom Mrs. Santos seemed to love and adore. The moment the two of us first met when I first came to this stupid school, we immediately bashed heads—literally. I hated (still hate him) the guy, and he hated me back. We’re like the similar poles of a magnet—we stay away from one another as much as we can.

Well, there were those times wherein the both of us would come across each other by accident outside school. Very much just like what happened this morning at my favorite café found just a few blocks away from school. We, quite unfortunately, found ourselves standing side by side at the cash register as we ordered our drinks, and just as I was about to take mine from the nice cashier lady, he grabbed my cup and drank it all in one gulp (it’s iced coffee), leaving me pretty much wide-eyed and angry. As revenge, I clenched my hand into a fist and punched him square in the face, hard, making him drop flat on his back with a bloody, broken nose. He was obviously out and wouldn’t be up for the next few hours, and the barista never hesitated of getting me a new drink.

Anyway, George was strolling down the hallway, his ugly, bandaged nose held up in the air as he did his very best to fill the entire place with his foul-smelling air of regality. A group of ten mean-looking men in black were seen following him not too closely behind, each of them holding the weapon of their choice (a grenade launcher, a pistol, a baseball bat…you know, the usual weaponry that local gangsters wield?), their teeth bared and eyes hidden by black sunglasses, as if that’s enough to make them look scary or something.

I then blinked from behind my bangs as I thought about how those brutes could see in the dark despite the presence of those cheap-looking sunglasses as they walked along, mentally thanking myself at the same time for my initial choice of wearing a pair of thick, black stockings and my favorite baggy black exercise hoody despite my mother’s initial protests about my “tasteless” choice of color (heh—love you, Mom!).

“Heard that Madame Elizabeth taught that nasty Yoshida-bitch a lesson,” George said with a smug smirk. “Heh, serves her right. I mean, I just had my nose fixed last week!”

My breath hitched. What the heck did he call me?

“Sir, please, _do_ remember your mission,” one of the men in black, the one seen carrying a pair of wicked Colt 45 pistols, reminded him coolly. “The boss sent you here so that you—”

“So that I can track down this Anguren assassin and blast their brains to bits, yeah, yeah, I know,” George grunted. He then sneezed, hard, making the men jump back in alarm and causing blood to seep into the material of his nose’s bandage. “Ah, shit! Ah, shit! My nose! My nose! A-a-a-a-a-ah, I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die!”

The men in black seemed to panic, as well. In a frenzy, they had him surrounded and carefully (yet hurriedly) led him to the school nurse’s clinic located at the second floor as I just sat there in the darkness, my eyes wide with sheer confusion and my mouth hanging open and yet still completely unnoticed.

“That went well,” I managed after biting my tongue down, hard, just for me to stop the bubbling laughter from coming out. Grunting in pain as I stuck out my bleeding tongue and dutifully wrapping it with a clean handkerchief, I scrambled out of my hiding spot and went the other way. _Gotta finish the job. Fast._

∞

I almost had a heart attack the moment I went face-to-face with the human anatomical model right after I stepped into the unlit science laboratory, the beam of my phone’s flashlight unfortunately directed at its demonic facial features. It kind of reminded me of that Yuuya dude from that Corpse Party game so much that I instantly had the urge to scream my head off in fright and kick it down to bits before it could even touch me.

 _Chill!_ my inner self screamed at me before I could even raise my foot. _You can’t let anyone see you here! Don’t give your position away, stupid!_

“Right…” I muttered after letting out a shaky sigh of relief and realization. “Why the heck would I be so paranoid over a stupid videogame? That thing ain’t chasing me.”

Sassily flipping my thick, black hair to my back, I let out a know-it-all type of chuckle as I casually (yet hastily) walked away from the model and to the school map found posted by the laboratory cabinets that stored the school’s most-prized science-y stuff (you know, test tubes, gas lamps—those stuff?).

If I read it right, I’m currently found within the school building’s fourth floor (the building’s got five floors _and_ a rooftop garden, nice). The principal’s office, the only area in the building, the place wherein my target was located for the moment, was only two floors and five rooms away from me. That George-bastard and his goons were now obviously still inside the clinic for the moment, so I now have all the time in the world to just simply walk my way there while listening to some beats from my phone, as if I’m someone who’s taking a leisurely morning walk in the park.

Just as I placed a hand on the doorknob, a soft, eerie laugh rang out from somewhere behind me, making my hairs stand on an end. Slowly turning my head to sneak a peek (which I hope I didn’t), my dark, hooded eyes widening in shock as I saw the anatomical figure slowly taking a step towards me.

 _“Ehehehehehehehehe…”_ the creature managed with a creepy grin, a stream of saliva now seen dripping off its chin.

Wait…

Can anatomical figures move, laugh and drool?

“Shit!” I sputtered, slapping my mouth with my hand, hard, after realizing that I just screamed the “s-word” (heck, my parents _never_ let me cuss, even though I’m already someone in her early twenties!). Turning my head to face the door again, I hurriedly slammed my hand on the knob, only to hurriedly pull it back with a yelp.

The doorknob felt like a kettle brimming with freshly boiled water!

 _“Ehehehehehehehehe…”_ the creature laughed again, but its voice sounded louder this time, which only meant one thing: it’s now only a few blessed steps away from the spot where I’m standing. _“Pretty, little girl… Pretty, little girl… Come and play with me… Ehehehehehehehehe…”_

“Hiiii…!” I could feel my stomach churn more and more by the minute. I swear to the heavens that this living anatomical model’s much, much worse than your daily dosage of that perverted train dude’s groping hands. With a shaky breath, I turned to my heels to face the freak and made a run for it. Quite fortunately for my part, the anatomical model’s quite the slowpoke—I managed to drop on my side and successfully slide by its legs to safety just as it raised its arms to grab me.

One of the good stuff about some anatomical models is that they’re made out of brittle materials. One careless shove will cause for one to break into a million pieces. Quite a shame, really. I mean, I always wanted to get myself a human skeletal model and dress it up as Sans the Skeleton from _Undertale_ (I know, weird—but a good weird, since it’s not a fetish and stuff).

With a grunt, I skidded myself to a sudden halt, planted my hands on the floor, and did an aggressive reverse roundhouse kick with so much force that its legs broke down into a million pieces the moment my foot connected with its “flesh”. The same thing happened to its torso a moment later, leaving nothing intact but a single eyeball that went rolling towards me.

Grinning in childlike triumph, I grabbed the item with a haughty snort and raised it to my face.

Ah, my hunch was right—it’s a spy camera!

“Ha!” I raised my middle finger at the eyeball and made a face. “How do you like that, biotch? Just you wait—Imma come and get you!”

I’ve always wanted to say that, and now I did! Ha!

I’ve finally crossed that out of my bucket list!

I just hope that Dad never finds out…

I then dropped the eyeball/spy camera to the ground before stomping on it with so much force that it shattered into a million bits on my first try. Turning to face the once-intact anatomical bits found scattered on the floor, I let out a relieved sigh, thanking the heavens that it wasn’t a once-human psychopath who’s more than ready to harass and murder young girls.

“Okay,” I said, nodding to myself. “Time to look for another exit.”


	5. 03

Okay, I’ve now got a couple of choices for an exit.  
1\. The Main Door  
_A big, major no-no. I mean, wouldn’t it be just pretty stupid if I use it even though that’s the exact thing that I went through a couple of minutes ago? Besides, I’ve got a feeling that the cameras “saw” me enter, so why let them “see” me with my hair and uniform in a nasty mess? That would definitely raise some eyebrows._

2\. The Air Conduit  
_Okay, that’ll do, but it’s just pretty cliché, don’t you think? I mean, almost everyone in movies make their escape through that stuff. But what if I end up landing into the wrong room? Besides, I got a feeling that a few passes of gas here and there isn’t gonna make things any easier (don’t you ever dare laugh)._

3\. The Main Window  
_Ah, the wonders of heights. Okay, you know what? Never mind it! I hate heights! But hey, don’t get me wrong—I’m not aerophobic. I just hate the idea of falling to my doom. Just let a girl suffer her own nightmares, okay, dude?_

4\. The Window found within the Bathroom  
_Uh, I don’t wanna spoil your fun, but inching myself through this tiny space could be pretty dangerous. Sure, nobody expects someone to crawl through this rabbit hole of a window, but I’m not crazy enough to take any chances. And did I mention that I hate the idea of falling to my doom?_

5\. Stay put and create a Diversion  
_Yep, so not an exit, I know, but who cares? I am_ so _choosing this!_

All right, Thalia! Think! What is the best way to distract your foes?

Dance in front of the CCTV camera? Nah, too stupid.

Do some strip-teasing in front of the CCTV camera? What the heck?! No way!

Pick my nose in front of the CCTV camera? Uhhh…

Raise my middle finger at the CCTV camera? Dang, that’s nasty.

Slap my own booty in front of the CCTV camera? Ew, forget it!

Smoke in front of the CCTV camera? Er, no. I don’t smoke.

Act possessed in front of the CCTV camera? Okay, that’s weird, so no.

Act high in front of the CCTV camera? Nope.

Break more laboratory stuff? That I could agree with.

Look, I know that I’m now “unofficially” declared as the new family head by my dad, but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t go ahead and break a couple of rules like everyone else (no offense). Besides… Jinx, the famous “Loose Canon”, is one of the badass characters that I use most of the time whenever I play _League of Legends_ , only third in line next to everyone else’s babes Ahri and Akali. And we all know what Jinx’s specialty is: _blowing random stuff up!_

Yeah, sure, I don’t have my own Fishbones and my own Pow-Pow, but who cares? I can always wreck stuff my own way. Anyone can—if you think about it…right?

Well, as long as they’re not scared of getting chased around by the hard-working guys in blue, that is.

I let out a groan as the very thought of me running away from the police hit me—what if my dad finds out? No, what if the _entire_ clan finds out? I will be not only be the biggest source of disgrace to my family, but will be disowned as well. Heck, I could even lose my own head (literally)! I’m a hundred and ninety-nine percent sure that my supposed position as the family head would eventually be passed down to my half-brother, despite the very fact that it was he who’s the real disgrace—the nasty black sheep of the family.

 _Worrying about something unrelated to your current mission is useless,_ the inner me warned. _You have to finish this mission of yours before the clock strikes eleven. Besides…you’ve got donuts and pizza waiting for you at home, remember?_

Aw, nuts! That definitely hit the joint!

“Ah, shi—I-I-I mean shell,” I corrected myself, pursing my lips in panic before another curse word could even find its way out. “Why the heck do I have junk food, of all things, as my greatest weakness…?”

Puffing up my cheeks in embarrassment, I impatiently slapped a hand on the nape of my neck and tried to ease myself through the means of rubbing it as my eyes panned the area found in front of me. There’s nothing special in here other than a bunch of laboratory stuff and the severed remains of that creepy anatomical model. Yeah, sure, I could break stuff—but I’m a hundred percent sure that the breaking would only end up with me either getting detained by the school’s heads for more than a year (great, I could become the best student-janitress of the year if that happens) or even getting captured by the police and staying in their custody for an entire month (and would eventually end up becoming the Anguren clan’s greatest source of embarrassment, nice).

“Okay, smart-ass! What now?” I groaned, my voice hoarse with distress as I threw my head back and squeezed my eyes shut while wildly running my hands through my hair. Now beginning to walk around in circles, I continued to rant, completely oblivious about the nasty possibility that someone (or something) could hear me. “Ah, _fudge!_ I swear to the heavens that I could use a good video game right n— _a-a-a-a-a-a-ah?!”_

It seemed like some of the anatomical model’s broken limbs were too rebelliously tough to be broken, and the moment the arch of my foot made contact with it, the stupid item instantly rolled away without any warning, causing for me to lose my balance and drop flat on my back like a stupid ragdoll.

That’s when I remembered about the option of blowing random stuff the very moment my eyes made contact with the unlit light bulbs found hovering a couple of feet above me.

I might not have my own Jinx-y equipment, but that doesn’t stop me from getting any explosive ideas.

I moistened my lips in anticipation as I hurried to the cabinets that housed whatever science-y stuff I could use for my impromptu project—something that one could fill with attractive sparkles and deafening explosions. Eh, mostly explosions, but who cares? It’s risky, I know, but what other choice do I have? Besides, I’m a hundred percent positive about the thought of an unexpected explosion would certainly capture anyone’s attention in full succession.

With a swift kick, I smashed the glass door open and carefully peered inside, pressing my lips together into a thin line as my eyes landed on the gas-filled Bunsen burner and hummed an impatient tune right after realization struck me painfully like lightning—I’ve got the gas. Okay. What next?

Taking the burner out of the cabinet with a sigh, I pressed my back on the unharmed part of the cabinet door and slowly let myself slide down to the floor as I pondered about my next move. Light bulbs are very fragile objects—just one wrong way of touching it could possibly break it down into a million pieces. And everyone knows what that mean—using the well-known combination of a nail and one’s old, trusty hammer is probably quite the riskiest choice out there to get the job done. I need something precise. Something that’s just—

“Ah, shit!” came someone’s muffled voice from the outside, which was then followed by the familiar sound of metal keys’ impatient jingling as they ruthlessly clattered against one another as their holder obviously searched for the correct one to get the door unlocked. The person struggled with the unlocking-the-door part for a while (which, of course, bought me some time to hide myself), incoherently grumbling to himself along the way, before finally being able to turn the lock in full succession with a giddy “Hell, yeah!”

The door swung open with an unsettling creak, urging me to creep into the shadows more, the Bunsen burner held tightly against my chest as I cautiously watched the man step into the room.

“Anyone in ‘ere?” he called out, his big head moving about as he scanned his dark surroundings, at the same time flicking the light switch, causing for the light bulbs to buzz to life. “Hello?”

I winced at the sudden bright presence of light, considering the fact that my eyes had fully adjusted themselves to the darkness. Letting out a pained growl, I quickly did a _sokuho kaiten,_ successfully getting myself out of his line of sight and hastily crawling behind the teacher’s table just in time before the person could even see me.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Who’s there? I—I—I got mah tools ‘ere wit’ me an’ I know how ta use ‘em!”

Oooh, the dude’s got the “cowboy accent”. I like it.

Wonder if he could still talk like that once after I rip his throat open?

“Damn!” the man groaned. I then heard a metallic thump, the kind of sound produced whenever metal hits the smooth surface of cement or marble, as if he just carelessly dropped a toolbox brimming with countless apparatus on the floor. “What happened to ya, eh, big guy? Got knocked off yer stand by a stray cat or somethin’?”

That’s when I decided to make my move—this dude could alert the school’s authorities at any moment’s notice, and that’s quite certainly not a part of my plan.

“Wrong, mister!” I boldly announced whilst hopping on the table, thus scaring the lights out of him and making him scream like a kindergartner as he helplessly fell on his fat bum. Grinning like a maniacal psycho, I leered down at him, chuckling as I watched him shiver like a helpless pupa desperately trying to crawl out of its wretched cocoon. “There aren’t any stray cats in here but me!”

He screamed again, this time successfully returning to his feet and making haste for the door.

I clicked my tongue in distaste. My, he’s such a slowpoke for his age!

“Hey, where are you going?” I forced my tone to become playfully flirtatious as I gave chase, giggling in childlike excitement after noticing his outstretched palm to be only a few blessed millimeters away from the doorknob. “I just wanna ask you a few questions, you know!”

“Somebody!” he screeched just as his hand landed on the knob. With a hurried twist, he yanked the door open and bolted out into the dark hallway. “Somebody, hey! A psychotic bi— _mmmmmmph?!”_

I was now grinning from ear to ear, my hands painfully pressed against his sweaty mouth. With an eerie giggle, I slowly leaned into his ear and whispered, my eyes wide in mad excitement and my voice deeper than usual, “Did you just say something about me being a psychotic bitch, hm?”

His dark eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared at me, petrified. Just a little bit more of the widening act and I’m quite sure they would be quite easy to be ripped out from their sockets with nothing but my hands in tow. Cold bullets of sweat were now seen dripping from his wide forehead down to his mouth, along with a pair of disgusting streams of mucus from his widened nostrils. The worse part? My hands were at the bottom of it all—literally. Tiny pools of the most disgusting concoction of sweat and mucus were now covering a huge part of my hands, and I did everything I could in my power just for me to _not_ freak the heck out of my wits.

“Hey!” I growled as I pressed my hands against his mouth even more, making him let out a muffled scream of pain as he wildly clawed at my hands, desperately trying to break free. “I asked you a question! Did you or did you not?”

He wildly shook his head as a reply.

I raised a brow, clearly dissatisfied, but eventually decided to let it slide nonetheless. “All right then, mister. I’ll go easy on you, so you can go ahead and relax—” I hurled him back into the laboratory within the blink of an eye, smirking as I watched him go tumbling sideways on the floor with ambient moaning, letting out a pained cry as his back hit one of the a certain table with so much force that the said furniture was moved with ease, the edges of its metal legs scraping loudly against the floor as it did so. “—once I get whatever it is that I need from you, that is.”

He then curled into a ball, groaning as I casually walked back into the room, not forgetting to lock the door behind me whilst cautiously eying him.

“N-no more…” the man managed to utter despite the pain he’s currently having (sheesh, this dude’s tough!). “P-please…”

I clicked my tongue a couple of times as I watched him tremble. My eyes then found themselves fixated on his toolbox a few moments later, humming in deep thought as I approached the metal chest. “Hey, mister, you got a drill in here or something?”

He merely made a frightened “hiiiiiiii” sound in such a shaky manner which instantly made me take it as a yes.

I knelt on one knee as I carefully lifted the lid with both of my hands, smiling widely as the word “eureka” began to echo inside my mind. Huh, looks like I’ll be home early tonight, after all.

Grabbing the box of drill bits, I hastily opened the chest’s lower regions and pulled out another box—the one that contained a battery-operated drill in it, which kind of gave the explanation about why the main toolbox was bigger than most toolboxes in the first place.

“W-what’re ya goin’ ta d-do wit’ it?” the man asked me, his shaky voice now getting weaker and weaker by the minute. “L-little g-girls like ya sh-shouldn’t be playin’ w-wit’ a grown man’s stuff!”

I snorted.

“First things first, mister: I know what I’m doing, okay? So shut up,” I said, rolling my eyes in annoyance. “And second, I’m not a little girl anymore. In fact, I’m already an adult. Someone who’s, uh, let’s say…in their early twenties?”

I heard a weak gasp from behind as I got back on my feet.

“Y-yer an adult?” he asked me, astonished.

I let out a sigh. “Oh boy, not this again.”

“B-but ya look so young!” he cried out. “So innocent! W-what are ya doin’ ‘ere, wearin’ that stupid school uniform? No—how did ya manage ta git in ‘ere?”

I once again walked to the cabinet that I broke and got myself a plastic syringe, humming in thought as I let my mind break his questions down into bits. “I got my baby face to thank, mister. Heh, fake documents, too. Oh! And the cash—anyone could get away with just anything if you have a mountain of doubloons with you, you know.”

“Demon!” he cried out in horror.

I groaned. “Can’t I _please_ just let a day pass by with everyone calling me an angel for once?”

“Ya wouldn’t— _urgh_ —get away with this!” he told me, as if lashing out a threat that could make me wet my skirt and cry my head off in fear (heh, as if that would happen).

My head slowly began to pound because of the “threats” that he’s giving me. I now have the tools that I need all carefully placed in front of me—the gas, the drill, the light bulbs, and the syringe. The only thing that prevented me from starting my job was the dude’s forced ranting. He wouldn’t stop talking, saying stuff like the police would surely catch me and on how disappointed my parents will be once they see me doing something unlawful (uh, my dad _wanted_ me to do this, genius).

“Hey!” I snarled, my patience finally snapping, as I sharply turned at him. “You better shut the heck up, mister, if you don’t want to end up getting roasted in hellfire!”

“Ha!” he confidently bared his crooked teeth at me. “As if ya got ta guts to do so, darlin’!”

Lightning flashed outside, which was followed shortly by the deafening booming of thunder shortly after. Gigantic raindrops then began to pelt the glass.

Just as the second flash of lightning came, something caught my eye—something that I managed to catch from my peripheral vision at such a short notice.

A rope, found shoved carelessly inside the lower regions of the man’s toolbox.

“Oh-hoh,” I grinned yet again, my eyes sparkling in sinister excitement. “It looks like everybody’s on their gangsta mode until the fox finally decides to strip off the sheep’s clothing…”


	6. 04

Everything was perfect.

Well, I would certainly call it “perfect”, only if it weren’t for the man’s annoying rants about how it’s supposed to be said as “wolf in sheep’s clothing” instead of “fox in sheep’s clothing” (heck, he even went as far as calling me a “dumb, psycho bitch”—the nerve of that guy!). However, despite all of those nauseating gas attacks and ear-splitting remarks that he kept on making just for the sake of slowing me down (and alerting the school staff’s attention, obviously), I managed to (thankfully) pull through.

Grinning, I stared at my “art” for a couple of moments before finally deciding to set everything into motion.

It was now raining cats and dogs outside, along with the mysteriously beautiful (yet frightening) combination of lightning and thunder. The sound of the gargantuan raindrops pelting against glass was so loud that I could no longer hear my own heavy breathing and the thumping of my own feet against the cool tiles as I hurriedly ushered myself along the hallway.

 _My daughter must become the head of the clan!_ I remembered my dad telling his brothers and their wives at the very top of his lungs a lot of years back, before anything that’s got guns and killing successfully became a daily basis of involvement within my boring life (I think that I was still seven or something), which, of course, made me do a big time jaw-drop right after my seven-year-old brain did a successful scanning of his words (I dunno how long it lasted—a minute or two, maybe?). _Go ahead! Change my mind—after all, my gun is only a mere meter away._

 _Thalia?_ I remembered one of my skeptical uncles ask him. _You want your_ youngest _child to lead the clan? What about Michael, your eldest?_

My father remained true to his words—without batting an eye, he got up from his chair and marched upstairs to our room, obviously on his way to retrieve his prized firearm. My uncle, the poor man, eventually realized the awful deed that he has oh-so-carelessly done, and was already in the midst of losing his mind due to the fact of his impending doom.

 _Michael is no longer a part of the Anguren Clan,_ another uncle reminded him, not to mention rather calmly, as one of his veiny hands reached out to pat his brother on the back. _Tito has banished him last year, remember? Thalia’s the only child, now. She’s now the only one who’s fit enough to inherit the throne._

 _What throne?_ my seven-year-old self, with my young eyes as wide as saucers, asked in alarm as fear slowly made its way into my seven-year-old head. _What do you mean by “banish”? Why is my big brother not here?_

I could still remember the way how my mother rubbed my back. It’s the type of back rubbing that anyone would give someone whenever that someone’s in dire need of emotional and mental support. _Honey,_ she cooed. _You don’t have a brother. Not anymore._

 _…what?_ my tone was so close to a squeak.

 _You’ve always wanted to be a princess, right?_ my mother pointed out, obviously ignoring my question. _To be just like Cinderella and the others?_

I could do nothing but nod my head in agreement. After all, I’ve always liked the idea of sitting on a throne and barking random orders at my servants.

 _Well, your dream finally came true!_ Mama said, beaming at me (and stunning me with her perfectly white set of teeth). _You’re now a princess! All you need to do is wait until you’re old enough to lead the entire family!_

 _And live in a castle?_ I asked with a pout.

Everyone laughed.

 _And live in a castle, yes,_ Mama nodded. _Now, all you have to do is to be a good girl and—_

She was then cut short by my dad, who broke the lighthearted word exchange as he called for my uncle (the one who pissed him off).

My mother held me close as my said uncle shakily walked out of the living room. Towards the area where my dad was located at that moment. Everyone else was silent as fear began to waft through the air.

The next thing I knew was that an ear-piercing gunshot rang all throughout the house a minute later, along with my aunt burying her face into her hands as she cried.

I frowned at the sudden flashback. Man, that definitely turned my life upside-down. I mean, who in the world would ever let their young child see a corpse with a bullet in the poor dead man’s head? My father, that’s who. Heck, he even went as far as ordering me to pull the bullet out with nothing but my bare hands, smacking the lights out of me the moment I puked my dinner away (he wanted me to “harden up”, to be “immune” at the first sight of blood, so barfing was never an option—unfortunately).

My running then came to an abrupt halt the moment countless thoughts began swimming inside my head. What’s the point of killing my clan’s enemies when I, as the next head of the clan, could just start a truce? What’s the point of proving my worth to my father if I could just simply dethrone him by force? What’s the point of putting myself in danger within stupid missions that my father’s been giving me ever since I was eleven? What’s the point of getting blood on my hands when I could just order someone to do the job for me?

 _What’s the point of living a carefree life if everyone could just go ahead and point their guns at you?_ More of my father’s words came echoing inside my head.

My eyes widened as I felt my hairs stand on the end.

My missions… My training… My dad doesn’t want me to be dependent on people who could one day turn their backs on me… That was his plan all along! He wanted to prepare me for the worst! And the worst part was that I’m only realizing it now!

“Hey, you, kid!” a man shouted from somewhere behind me. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your class, studying for an exam or something?”

“Studying? For an exam? Who? Me?” My shoulders then began to shake as laughter began to bubble deep within my throat. “Oh no, no, no, no, no… I’ve got other things to do, mister.”

“K-kid…?” the man was now starting to get an easy. “Are you… Are you okay?”

Am I okay? Huh. What a typical question.

I gracefully turned to my heels to face him and stuck my tongue out, my right hand raised at around the level of my shoulders and my middle finger hitting the limelight as I let out a maddened laugh of triumph. “Wanna know my answer so bad, old man? Come and get it, then!”

The man—who, by some kind of twisted luck, was one of those kind-hearted teachers—let out a shriek as he quickly turned around and ran for his life, screaming his head off for help along the way. Of course, in order for my plan to work perfectly, I gave chase, pulling out a broken shard of glass as he rounded the first corner.

I know this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but what other choice do I have?

“Come stay with me, old mouse!” I let out a sick cackle. “Let’s play for _a-a-a-a-a-all eter-r-r-r-r-rnity-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y!”_

“Somebody, please, help me!” he cried out. _“PLEASE!”_

I did a sudden leap, raising the knife-like shard above my head as my mouth twitched upwards into a twisted grin, my eyes shining in sheer insanity as I leered down at my helpless prey.

“Old mou-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-se!” I called out in the sweetest sing-song voice I could ever muster as the tip of the shard was now only a couple of blessed centimeters away from the teacher’s nape.

_“HELP ME!”_

There was a sudden gunshot, along with this hot, painful feeling that pierced through my left shoulder blade as I dropped flat on my back. In shock, I remained still as a rock for roughly two minutes, before eventually coming up with the decision to move for a bit to check my vitals, blinking a couple of times as I slowly moved my head to the side to inspect my injury. Since it’s dark (along with the terrible fact that my hoody’s black), it’s quite difficult to tell if I’m wounded or whatsoever, but the blood found pooling around my shoulder said so otherwise.

“Mr. Trinidad!” another voice called out. “Are you all right, sir?!”

“Y-yes, I’m fine, thank you…” the teacher managed. His breathing was quite erratic, as if he just finished a five-kilometer jog in only fifty minutes or something. “T-that girl… S-she’s…”

 _This is so not part of the plan,_ the inner me started to panic. _Gotta get away…_

I bit my lip, my brain gears now grinding against one another in full speed.

“Don’t worry, sir,” the speaker—a member of the cursed school’s security force, I presume—told him in the calmest of tones that anyone could ever muster for the moment. “We have everything under control. You’re safe, now.”

“B-but she’s—”

“Yes, sir, we know,” the speaker seemed to be—I dunno—guilty, maybe? I’m not so sure. “You have to calm down, now, sir. Breathe. We’re taking you to the clinic for further inspection, okay?”

“A-all right…”

Oh, that’s it! It’s now or never!

“Se-e-e-e-e-eriousl-y-y-y-y?” I managed to spat out, alerting everyone present, as I slowly sat up with a grimace as I cradled my injured shoulder. “Dude, you just shot me. You shot me! And you asked him if he’s okay? What about me, eh? I mean, I’m the one with injury here, right? Isn’t this some sort of maltreatment or something? _Sheesh,_ people!”

The teacher let out a scream as he hurriedly turned to his heels and ran off, waving his hands high up in the air like some frightened lunatic.

“Freeze!” the speaker (yep, I was right—he’s someone from the school’s security personnel) cried out whilst pointing his gun at me. “Raise your hands where we could see them!”

I looked at him with a raised brow, as if he’s someone who just got out of an antique coffin for laughs on the eve of Halloween.

“Uh… My shoulder’s injured, remember?” I rolled my eyes. “Man, you’re so sadistic for a security dude.” 

“Excuse me?” he spat, moistening his lips a moment after he impatiently shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, but did you just call me sadistic?”

Okay, that definitely hit the spot.

I grinned while innocently batting my eyelashes. “Oh no’s! Did I step on a mine or something? Because—you know—your face is so-o-o-o-o-o-o-o red that it resembles a cystic zit or something.”

He’s losing it. “Why you little bi—”

“Fred,” his comrade started to coo (there were three of them present).

My grin only grew wider. “Oh? Near the verge of snapping, I see.”

“That’s it! No more Mr. Nice Guy!” the speaker, whom his comrade referred to as “Fred”, bellowed as he charged towards me like a raging bull. “You’ve said enough, little girl! You’ve said enough!”

His comrades instantly went into a frenzy as they tried to grab him. “Fred! No!”

I’ve finally decided to make my move just as he’s only a mere meter away from me: I hurriedly grabbed the glass shard (which only fell a few inches away from me the moment I fell due to the sudden gunshot) with my working hand and hastily got up on one knee, and, despite the pain that my shoulder’s giving me at the moment, held the shard with both hands like my life depended on it. And that’s when the magic happened. With one, powerful swing, I let out a grunt through gritted teeth as I thrust my hands out, just in time for Fred to be pierced perfectly in the abdomen just as he’s about to knock me out cold with the butt of his gun.

My hands then felt warm and wet. It’s quite obvious that I stabbed him perfectly. I watched Fred in silence as he let out a pained grunt before coughing up some blood (which mostly splattered all over me, gross) and looking down at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. He then slowly sank to the floor, his mouth agape as blood continued to drip off his chin, before letting out a shaky gasp as he finally dropped dead.

Like an idiot, I remained still for like three minutes as I stared at the fresh corpse lying before me. I then blinked a couple of times, before moving my head up to gaze at Fred’s friends, who looked like they just stepped on a nasty pile of gigantic horse poo (it’s gross, I know, I’m sorry) or something. Then I looked down at the corpse again. And then up again. And then down. And then up. And then down. And then up.

And then I grinned, letting out a nervous chuckle as I did so.

“Well, _that_ happened.”

“You monster!” Fred’s first companion cried out as he lashed out at me.

“You’ll pay for this!” his second companion yelled as he followed suit. 

_Man, I don’t have time for this,_ I snorted as I rolled my eyes. With a tired sigh, my hand wandered down towards Fred’s own, clicking my tongue in distaste as I grabbed his gun, raised it, and made a wild pull at the trigger.

Companion No. 1 dropped cold on his face as the bullet hit him square in the forehead, while Companion No. 2, on the other hand, let out a pained groan as he dropped down on one knee as the bullet passed right through his other knee.

Hastily, I got back up on both feet as I triumphantly stuck my tongue out at him, pressed on the area found directly under my right eye, and pulled it down while making that annoyingly childish “nyeh-nyeh-nyeh-nyeh-nyeh” sound.

That only got Companion No. 2 hollering. “Why you—you—you ungrateful little runt!”

“Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh!” I continued to mock him, doing the Caramell Dance dance as I did so. And then I turned to my heels and ran.

…this is gonna be fun. I just know it.


	7. 05

I was cackling like a madman as I shot my middle finger up at every CCTV camera that I ran past. Letting those gunshots echo within the hallway was enough to get people scrambling to their feet, while leaving Companion No. 2 behind while yelling his head off as he tended his bleeding knee was more than enough to raise the people’s alert level to a hundred percent or more and have them scrambling out of the building.

And, just as what I’ve thought and just what I’ve _always_ thought, I’ve got more than ten men from the school’s security force hot on my heels.

“Stop!” yelled one of them as the chase went on. “Stop, kid! Stop!”

“Bruh, get a life!” I let out a menacing laugh, spreading my arms out wide as if I were flying or riding a galloping horse as I rounded the nearest corner (and no, I didn’t yell _‘we-e-e-e-e-e-e-e’_ like a dang little kid who’s honestly still too young to become a psychopath-in-the-making such as myself—unfortunately). “You peeps planning to stop me? Come and get me, then! We’ll see who’s the real loser of this game!”

“You don’t want me to shoot you, kid!” another one bellowed. “Surrender to us, _now_!” He then yelled something into his walkie-talkie which way too fast for me to catch on, but the tone of his voice was enough to inform me about the nasty fact that he’s demanding his colleagues for more backup.

I only snorted. “As if you could hit me with that stupid bullet of yours!” And the rest of the chase was history.

Nah, just kidding.

Look, the chase wasn’t at all historical and shi—I mean, all historical and special. If I could remember correctly, all we did was run and run and run, along with a couple of failed taser gun shootings here and there (I was just too fast for them—yes, even with that fresh, nasty bullet wound in my shoulder, my reflexes were still pretty top-notch, all thanks to the adrenaline rush). The reinforcements came, so the security dudes’ head count was now tripled, and if I’m not careful enough, I’m a hundred percent positive that they would eventually catch me in no time.

Twenty minutes. All of that running took us twenty minutes to finish. My shoulder was throbbing again, and my vision was getting blurrier and blurrier by the moment due to blood loss. Thankfully, I managed to get to the door of my destination before the possibility of fainting and yanked it open before slipping inside.

The moment I was in, I instantly dropped on all fours and suddenly had the urge to vomit. I’ve lost so much blood that my body could no longer keep up, but what other choice do I have (LOL, imagine reading this while listening to Brian Tyler’s _Splinter VS Shredder_ , that would be epic)? Shaking my head, I slowly got back to my feet and stared at my “surprise present” for the security personnel. I knew that I still got a mission to complete, and backing out was never truly an option of mine to begin with. But if I _did_ surrender, well… Let’s just say that I’ll end up with a bullet in my head, is that understandable enough for you?

Just as I turned around to lock the door, the security dudes were now at the other side, still desperate enough to catch me (I’m not sure, but I guess that they’re gonna get a pay raise if they did), leaving me no other choice but to bang my body against the door and push against it with everything I’ve got, all the while as I moved my hand down to the knob and made a wild twist at the lock button to temporarily keep them from accessing the room (and let me tell you—that _hurt_ ).

While they were busy with the kicking-the-door-open thingy, I hurriedly (but dizzily) made my move towards the windows. Grabbing whatever’s left with the rope, I pushed one open with my uninjured arm, tied the end of the rope to one of the stools, and jumped out.

If you’re curious about whatever happened to the rest of the rope, then fine. Remember that stupid slowpoke? He’s the surprise present. All I did was knock him out cold, tied him up to a chair, and then punched him in the nose just for the sake of fun (and no, I’m not a sadist—I was just bored).

The gas and everything else? Ha! I’m not telling. It’ll just ruin the other part of the surprise.

Anyway, if you’re thinking that I slid myself down to safety with the rope’s help, then you’re mistaken. Just as I was a couple of feet away from the lab window, I made a wild swing and latched onto the stool of a random window from the second floor (I was quite lucky that it wasn’t the window of the school clinic).

And that’s when my surprise was discovered.

At the very moment I released the rope, a huge explosion engulfed the entire science laboratory. The windows shattered into a million pieces, causing the shards to dangerously rain on me as I held on for dear life. Everyone was now screaming their heads off as they ran out and away from the building, no longer caring about the possibility of them hitting or even stepping on someone because of panic.

“Ah, shit,” I grumbled the moment realization struck me like lightning. How the heck can I finish my mission if I could do nothing else but dangle up here like a stupid car air freshener? Besides, my shoulder was hurting so much that I’m quite sure that I’ll end up cold anytime if I’m gonna stay dangling here like a scented pine tree that I, weirdly enough, loved to sniff as a little kid. “If I could just…”

Holding my breath, I finally decided to let my injured shoulder rest, and allowed my left arm to dangle freely from my body as I squeezed my eyes shut to let the temporary wave of relief wash over me.

I then moved my head to watch those poor, clueless souls as the building spewed them out like a peashooter would do to peas.

And that’s when I saw him—old man Varone, the only damn reason why I entered this cursed institution, running for his life with a good number of security dudes surrounding him for his protection.

I watched him for a while as he and his guards fluidly moved along with the crowd before letting out an exasperated groan. My poor shoulder only had what—two minutes of rest? Oh, come on, dude! I’ve got _tons_ of personal stuff to worry about right now. I mean, I’ve lost like—I dunno—more than a liter of blood, maybe? Along with the fact that a bullet is buried deep within my shoulder at the moment? And the additional fact that I’m _dangling_ from the second floor with just _one_ arm?

Dammit. Just dammit.

If only those dudes were here…

Okay, now’s not the right time to daydream, brat! You still got a pig to murder!

With a grunt, I forced myself to move my throbbing (and close to becoming limp) arm up to my side, wincing as I willed my now-numb fingers to pull out the “toy” that my dad gave me a few days prior my “first day at school”.

 _Take good care of it,_ I remembered Dad telling me, his eyes cold and unforgiving. _It was my father’s. I don’t want_ you, _of all people, to lose it._

 _If you’re that scared of losing your precious toy, then why are you giving it to me?_ I honestly wanted to retort. To show him who’s gonna be the real boss once the time comes. To sneer at his face and point at the obvious fault found within his statement. However, I, quite unfortunately, eventually found myself settling down with the safe idea of keeping my mouth shut and just simply nodding my head.  


The silvery revolver glinted wickedly against the flames. Although my fingers were already pretty much numb, it still… Well… It felt pretty cool to the touch, but due to the flames’ presence, the metal’s coolness was slowly disappearing, eventually replacing it with warmth (and I’m quite sure that it’ll be too hot for me—no, for anyone—to touch if I won’t act anytime soon).

Clicking my tongue, I raised the firearm and directed its barrel to Varone’s head. It wasn’t an easy shot, considering the nasty situation I was in. My shoulder was throbbing, my vision’s getting hazier and hazier by the minute, my hand was getting tired and painful, and, the most troublesome part of them all, the flames were now slowly making their move towards me.

It’s now or never, I suppose.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my weakened index finger to pull at the trigger.

The nighttime air was already devoured by the screaming of those poor people below, but there’s no mistaking it. The gunshot rang out, causing the horrified screaming to just grow louder and more panicked.

I opened one eye and cautiously peeked at my work.

Ah, dang it. Big mistake.

I just shot down the wrong guy!

“Professor Antonio!” one of the women screamed from below. “Oh, god, no!”

_Whoops._

Oh, well! His soul’s probably a happy bean right now, either on its merry way to heaven or its agonizing way to hell (that’s it, I _am_ a sadist).

Okay, Thalia! Focus! You’ve only got five rounds left for this!

I raised the gun again and pulled at the trigger, my eyes open this time, my heart pounding inside my chest as I watched the gruesome scene unravel before me. My prey instantly dropped flat on his face, alerting everyone around him—bodyguard or not.

Okay, I just did how many? Thirty-something kills? Oh, wow. That’s just… That’s just so far off-track.

All I need was one dead guy.

_One dead guy!_

And how many did I kill? Definitely not one, obviously.

Ugh, man! Dad would definitely have my head chopped off for this!

 _You’re quite the stupid child, you know that?!_ I remembered him yelling at my twelve-year-old self after I “accidentally” set our target’s car on fire with just one click on a certain red button, successfully causing an explosion (and _ultimate_ chaos, mah dude! Whoooo!) and sending people running everywhere (some even dove head-first into the closest building). _You completely failed the mission! I told you to do it_ cleanly!

Twelve-year-old me just smiled at him, the color slowly draining away from my chubby face as I suddenly felt tiny and helpless. _At least the target’s dead, isn’t he?_

Before twelve-year-old me could even blink, he dropped whatever he was holding at that moment and smacked the lights out of me.

I shuddered. Totally the worst moment of having a flashback, don’t you agree?

“I knew it!” George’s annoying voice rang throughout the crowd, nearly causing me to lose my grip and fall down to my hospital bed. “This way, hurry!”

With my eyes wide as wide as saucers, I wildly whipped my head around to determine his exact location, only to end up dropping my jaw.

There he was, surrounded by his own gang of guards while assisting—wait a second…

Is that Varone?!

I hurriedly looked up to see the guy whom I killed earlier. If he’s not Varone, then…

Then who the hell is he?!

“Mr. Trinidad!” one of the men surrounding him cried out. “Mr. Trinidad, sir! Please, stay with us!”

Oh, hell, no!

I just killed that old teacher whom I traumatized some time ago!

“Come on!” I could hear George urging his men. “This way!”

I gritted my teeth. _No way, shithead! Ya ain’t escaping me! Not this time!_

I once again swung my arm up, directing the barrel at the _real_ Varone. _No time to waste,_ I thought. Holding my breath, my finger made a wild pull at the trigger, making me lose another bullet and finally witnessing Varone’s quick demise.

The damn bastard let out a grunt (well, I think he did) before falling flat on the ground. George and the others were screaming their heads off as they surrounded his corpse in a deranged panic.

_Okay, now’s my chance!_

I finally released the stool, allowing myself to drop all the way to the now-warm asphalt found below. I felt a sudden sharp pain shoot up my leg at the impact, indicating the nasty truth of an ankle dislocation, but who cares about that? I need to get out of here—fast.

“Varone!” I heard George cry out in panic. “Wake up, you nasty dickhead! Wake up!”

_No more time to waste!_

I managed to scramble back on my feet before they could even notice me and hurried on to the safe zone. Carelessly shoving the firearm back into the belt of my skirt, I managed to blend in with the crowd with so much ease that no one even bothered to ask about the way I walked. Well, maybe it’s mostly because of the panic, but that’s none of my concern.

Limping away from the chaos, I pulled out my phone and glanced at the time: 10:57 PM. Ah, crap. Just three more minutes before eleven.

Guess that I can’t eat the pizza, after all.

I slowly sunk on the sidewalk as I let the wave of fatigue wash over me. Now that the adrenaline’s slowly disappearing from my system, the all-too familiar feeling of nausea has made its way back into my head.

Turning my head to the side, I bent down and let everything out. My lunch, my snacks—everything. Hesitation was never an option, now. I gotta let everything out before my condition gets worse.

“Hi there, little lady! Need a hand?”

I froze in mid-barf. Looking up, I managed to make out the all-too familiar faces of my most favorite half-American nephews from the darkness, Jackson and Maxwell Phine, a pair of loyal (yet mischievous, let me tell you that) brothers who always got my back no matter what.

I merely sneered at them. “So… You guys are my getaway vehicle drivers or something?”

“Busted,” Maxwell chuckled. “Anyways, let’s go. Grandpa’s losing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate school crammings...


	8. 06

“One person…” Dad began, his merciless eyes glued on me. “All I ordered you to do is to kill _one_ person…”

I swallowed thickly, my heart pounding wildly against my chest as I found myself petrified by his unforgiving gaze. “Y-yes…” I managed whilst looking down, suddenly finding interest with the activity of smoothening the wrinkles out of my skirt. “Y-you did, F-Father…”

“And what did you do?” he asked me, his calm tone mocking.

I swallowed again. “I… I killed thirty-nine men, Father…”

“Excellent,” Dad grinned, his voice cracking in anger. He then stood up from his chair, slamming his hand on the table in full force, making me shrink back into my chair with a squeak. “AND YOU’VE CAUSED PEOPLE TO SUFFER, YOU FOOL!” He then roared at me, slapping my bruised cheek when I said nothing in reply. “HAVE YOU REALIZED THE CHAOS YOU’VE DONE?!”

“F-forgive me, sir…” I stammered, feeling helpless and pathetic. He slapped me again. This time on the other cheek. “I-I won’t do it again…”

“Thalia, you _do_ know that it is _you_ who’ll inherit my title!” Dad roared, his eyes wide and filled with rage. He raised his hand once more, obviously preparing himself to slap me—again. “You are the one next in line! My _only_ heir!”

I flinched and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the hit.

I then held my breath and waited.

I know that it’s pretty stupid of me, but dude—what was I meant to do? I mean, what other choice do I have? I can’t just simply bark at him like an angry dog and stuff—I’m a hundred percent positive that that would only add more fuel to the fire. And that’s obviously something that I would never want to happen (and if you’re curious, then go ahead, I dare you to shout back at your dad—you’ll surely find yourself saying goodbye to your phone or Xbox or whatever in no time, trust me on that).

Strangely enough, I didn’t receive the hit. Instead, I heard him let out a sigh as something heavy was placed upon my head. I then warily opened an eye to see whatever’s going on. That’s when I saw it—he was ruffling my hair.

Better than a slap, I suppose.

“…Dad?” I croaked. Pathetic, I know. Stop judging me.

“I am now getting old…” he let out another sigh as he withdrew his hand. Slowly, he moved away from his desk and to the window to have a better view of the nighttime sky. “That damn bastard was supposed to be the one who’s next in line, not you. He knew that pretty damn well.”

I swallowed. I knew in an instant that he’s talking about my half-brother.

“But what did he do?” Dad managed to let out a weak chuckle. “He betrayed me. He betrayed the entire clan.” He then moved his head to look at me, his dark eyes distant. “…he betrayed _you_.”

“S-so you had no other choice but to choose me to replace you, instead.” I once again found the activity of skirt-smoothening extremely interesting.

Dad observed me for a while. “Yes.”

“I-I won’t fail you next time,” I shakily took in a breath. Gripping the edges of my skirt, I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I swear it on my life.”

“ _If_ there is a next time,” he warned, his eyes narrowing. He once again focused his gaze at the dark sky. “How is your shoulder?”

I cautiously looked down at my injured shoulder in silence, before letting my eyes run down to my arm. It was now wrapped up in a cast filled with R-rated scribbles (I swear, if I could only smack my nephews right now…) to prevent any unnecessary movements from happening that could possibly worsen the injury that I was currently suffering at the moment.

“It’s…okay. The bleeding has finally stopped,” I told him, my throat dry. “My arm’s itchy, though.”

“How about your ankle?” he asked me again, his gaze still focused on the star-filled sky.

My eyes trailed off toward my swollen right ankle. Mom had a pair of wooden flutes (yep, you read that right) tied on either side of my ankle for support, along with a small pack of ice plastered on it with the aid of a bandana. Guess she’s either just too lazy to look for the proper materials or just too panicked to think straight.

“Ready for a concert, I guess,” I said, shrugging. I really wanted to make a joke out of it right now, but I was just too tired to think of one.

Heck, I wasn’t even sure if I could still think straight anymore.

“Good,” Dad let out a light-hearted chuckle. “I believe they can surpass Beethoven, now.”

Wait… Was that a joke just now?

Did Dad just make that joke? For real?

Or did he just seriously make fun of Beethoven?

Nevertheless, that still made me smile.

Just a little bit, of course.

“No,” I told him. “Not Beethoven. Mozart.”

That just made Dad laugh his head off. For real.

“You really _are_ my daughter,” he managed between hysterical fits of laughter, shaking his head. He then turned to look at me, the friendly twinkle in his eyes back and—somehow—brighter. “Cunning _and_ filled with trial and error. Ah, such luck!”

I let out a relieved sigh. At least he’s not mad anymore—for now, at least.

“Dad, I’m really, _really_ sorry…” I pressed, looking away from him. “T-that’s stupid of me, I know. It’s just… I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need for you to worry, Thalia,” my father assured me. “Fifty-Three had successfully hacked their way into the school’s security system a couple of hours ago. No living person will realize that it’s you. Besides…” He approached me again and patted my head. “…you’ve killed all of the witnesses, haven’t you?”

Ah, good ol’ Fifty-Three. Certainly one of Dad’s most trusted (and yet highly anonymous) subordinates. To be honest with you, I knew _almost_ nothing about the guy. Well, other than the obvious fact that my dad has relied on his techy abilities for nearly a decade now, of course. Fifty-Three’s quite certainly the shadowy dude who’s always got your back no matter what (and if you’re thinking about that masked dude who officially became the mascot for the Deep Web, then yeah, Fifty-Three’s kinda like that) the situation you’re in and no matter what the price you offer them in return.

I swallowed again. “Yes… Yes, I have.”

“Perfect.” Dad once again patted me on the head. “That’s all I ever needed to know. You’re now dismissed.”

And with that, I was finally free for the hours to come.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, forcing my voice to sound more grateful and less tired. “And goodnight.”

“It’s already one in the morning, young lady,” Dad reminded me. “It should be ‘good morning’, not ‘goodnight’.”

I huffed in defiance. “Seriously, Dad?”

“Honestly, Thalia, just go!” he said in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose as I sat there, narrowing my eyes. “I’ve got more matters to attend to, all right? Just go—eat your pizza or something. Oh, wait, no—you better go to sleep. Can’t risk exposing you to the possibility of an acne breakout.”

I then reached out for my temporary crutch and carefully got up on both feet (although my left foot’s the one that’s been absorbing most of my weight within my current situation), slowly (and painfully) inching my way towards the door in hopes of having a graceful exit. Every forced step hurt me a lot, but hey—I earned it. Besides, “no pain, no gain”, am I right? And you know what they say—“bandages are signs of toughness”, and “scars are signs of honorable moments”!

Just kidding. I just made those two sayings up myself. Besides—who in the freaking world _wants_ to be scarred?

Definitely not me, that’s what I’m saying.

“Oh, and before you go,” Dad added while shuffling a couple of papers on his desk. “Your payment’s already in your room.”

“Payment?” I turned my head to flash him a look of mock surprise. “Awww, Dad! You shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, yes.” He then waved his hand at me in a shooing motion. “Go to your room and get some sleep, young lady.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I rolled my eyes.

With that, I was gone.

∞

I guess that now’s the proper time for me to tell you about the number-based code names that our subordinates (and we, too) have.

First of all, we have this so-called “Big Ten”, which was quite similar to the Big Three of Greek Mythology (and if you’re the kid who loves to do their homework, then I bet that you already know who they are; if not, then let me give you a hint—try reading the _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_ series, you dummy). Obviously enough, “One” is my dad. I’m currently the one who’s holding unto the codename of “Two”. My three remaining uncles (who also served as Dad’s personal advisors at times) were dubbed as “Three”, “Four” and “Five”. A female cousin of mine (who’s also a badass general within the army, by the way) was given the codename “Six”. “Seven” and “Eight” were our personal doctors (and let me tell you, _they are merciless_ ). Mom was known as “Nine”. And, lastly, Dad’s personal bodyguard was dubbed as “Ten”.

The ones that came after “Ten” were pretty much inferior compared to us. The Phine brothers were no exemption. Jackson was known as “Thirteen” and Maxwell was known as “Eighteen”.

The reason for this kind of dubbing? Oh, it’s quite simple, really.

For example, if “Eleven” died within either a mission or a personal accident, then “Twelve” will step up and would eventually become the new “Eleven”. The same thing happens if someone from the team eventually decided to call it quits just for them to start living a normal life.

It’s just all about the idea of replacing the dead/ex-members with ease. Nothing too shady for one to worry about. Trust me on that.

Oh, another thing: we gave ourselves numerical names for the sake of secrecy _and_ personal safety. I mean, what if someone from the group eventually decided to play as the bad guy? That would certainly be messed up. It’s quite obvious that they know tons of stuff about us—from our status to our speech patterns. From our favorite food to our preferred music genre. What if they use those to manipulate us? That, my dear, was where the numerical codenames hop in. They only know us via codename and status. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s completely safe.

Heck, I don’t even know if the person I just bumped into while in the midst walking on the street at midday is/was a member of our numerical codename family or not.

Besides, the world is a vast place, is it not? How should I, of all people, know?

“That’s a relief,” Jackson uttered somewhere at my right, completely knocking me away from my train of thoughts. “So, the two of you finally decided to end your discussion in peace, eh? Not bad.”

“You seemed disappointed, Jackie-cakes,” I sneered at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be happy for me or something?”

Jackson then finally lost his cool.

“Ugh, cut the cheesy nicknames, dammit!” my nephew groaned, planting a hand on his face. “Seriously, though—if I could remember it correctly, _you’re_ the one who’s been begging me and my brother to stop calling _you_ ‘Auntie’, saying that it’s just ‘too embarrassing for you to bear’ and stuff! And now _you’ve_ decided to call _me_ ‘Jackie-cakes’? Ew, cut it out, weirdo!”

I let out an evil laugh. “Hey, dude, ouch! I was only messing with ya, buddy! Get a life!”

He only rolled his blue eyes at me. “I just did. One that’s _permanently_ scarred, thanks to you.”

I laughed again.

Oh, man… I just really love it when he and his brother are around. And speaking of which… Where’s his brother?

“Where’s Max?” I asked, looking around. “Aren’t you guys always together or something?”

“He’s now catching some z’s in our room, dun’cha worry,” Jackson informed me. “Anyways, Lia, want me to carry you to your room or something? I mean, you look pretty troubled.”

“Buzz off,” I said, playfully giving him my signature death glare. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Not a little kid anymore, yeah, I know,” he said in a way that obviously mocks me. “But with the horrible fact of your head barely reaching my chest and the other much more horrible fact of people always mistaking you for a fourteen-year-old? Heh.” He then leaned on his knees so that we could be on the same eye level. “I don’t think so, chibi.”

My playful death glare instantly turned into the real deal. “Wanna fight?”

“Heh,” he straightened, raised his hands and backed away. “Not in that condition of yours, I won’t.”

“Fine,” I managed, obviously a bit disappointed. “I’ll see you at breakfast, then.”

“Yeah. Likewise,” Jackson then once again leaned down and gave me a light peck on the cheek before turning to his heels and jogged his way back to his and Maxwell’s room. “Nighty-night, Thal! Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

“As if we have them here!” I yelled back. Rolling my eyes, I resumed my pain-filled journey back to my room.

A quick introduction about my nephews: Jackson was a macho blue-eyed blond of twenty-nine years, while Maxwell was a fine brown-eyed blond of twenty-six years. They’re the younger duo of a gang of four siblings, with the older duo consisting of their older sisters, Melinda (thirty-five) and Melissa (thirty-one). They’re the children of a certain cousin of mine named Josephine (that came from a certain branch family—the Gudez; and no, this Josephine is a person, not Rin Kagamine’s horse from her _Daughter of Evil_ song). To be honest, I always got mad at them whenever they call me “Auntie” and the like, considering the fact that that they’re quite older than me. I still, however, love them like they’re my very own gang of older brothers. I mean, hey—who wouldn’t with the presence of their mischievous nature? Besides, the brothers are prank lords—they’re Class A pranksters who could easily throw a fart bomb out in the open and get away with it with such ease just by simply putting on a pair of sunglasses.

And that’s the main reason on why I personally chose them to become my guards and apprentices.

I personally chose them to guard me because I, obviously, trust them with my life, and, if you’re curious, I personally chose them to become my apprentices because I eventually decided that the time has “come” for me to show my father who’s the real boss (but nah, he’s just too dang busy to notice, bummer).

After a couple of minutes spent walking in pain, I’ve finally made it to my room. Opening the door has proven to be quite a chore in my current condition, but paid it no mind the moment I swung it close with the aid of my crutch. And that’s when I saw it—my dad’s “payment”, sitting in the middle of my bed, kept in a velvety red box with a cute, girly pink ribbon on top.

I groaned. “Really, Dad?”

Dad always knew that I’ve always been a hater of pink, so why in the world would he—oh, wait, that’s clearly not it.

He obviously wants me to suffer.

Have I told you that Dad’s a Class A prankster himself?

I didn’t? Well, I just did.

Slowly inching my way towards the bed, I carelessly ripped the ribbon off the box and casually tossed it somewhere behind my back. I then lifted the lid to see whatever’s inside, only to end up widening my eyes in horror.

Found inside was a neatly folded ahegao sweatshirt with a note written in Dad’s own handwriting, saying,

**_I honestly have no idea what to give you other than money and our men’s respect, but your two “smartest” nephews told me that this is the most perfect of all gifts. I honestly have no idea what this is other than the fact that it’s anime, but the boys told me that you’ll love it.  
Love, Dad_ **

“JACKSON!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “MAXWELL! I AM SO GONNA KILL YOU FOR THIS!!!”


	9. 07

A week has passed since then.

The swelling of my ankle has finally subsided, my arm’s no longer trapped within a cast, my shoulder could now be moved (but was still a bit painful) and, most importantly, I’ve successfully made my father return that cursed sweatshirt and had it replaced with something far cooler.

Well, he _did_ tell me to choose whatever I want. So, yeah, I did.

And my choice made my dad absolutely speechless.

You’re curious about my choice? Fine, then. I’ll tell you—but only after you answer the riddle that I’m about to give you. You ready? All right, then! Here comes my riddle:

**I have four sides and bears the color of the darkest of nighttime skies. I’m about the size of anyone’s book of notes, but once you see your name written on me, then Death himself would certainly come knocking at your door. What am I?**

If your answer is the Death Note, then, _ding-ding-ding,_ you are correct!

And yes, I chose a Death Note to replace the ahegao sweatshirt, of all things.

Why a Death Note? Well…

It’s a weeaboo thing. Don’t ask.

Anyways, it was already around four o’clock in the morning. The outside world was still pretty much engulfed in darkness and silence (it was already late in September, thus indicating the beginning of the chilly season), causing the people to have no other choice but to continue their snoring for a couple more hours before ending up realizing that they’re already more than an hour late for work. Well, most people, if I were to be precise.

You see, Dad would always have the decision of using this temporary state of peace to talk about our next line of action (which was very much unfortunate for my part, since I still obviously wanted to run around Dreamland a little longer), saying that it’s “for the best of our safety” and stuff. He believed that sharing his primary ideas about a certain plan during very early/late hours was considered as “extremely secretive” and the like, obviously thinking that nobody else would be awake (other than him and the people of his choosing).

To be honest, I’m not so sure if he knew about the different time zones.

"And the fact that Varone is now dead? Is that what you wanted to tell us?” Five went on, completely knocking me away from my trail of thought. “Honestly, Tito! Have you any idea about the impending chaos that his death had caused? If we won’t hunt them down, then god knows what they’ll do!”

“My daughter nearly lost her life, Arthur!” Dad shot back, his eyes widening in lividity. “I would never—”

“But what other choice do we have?” Three let out a distressed sigh. “We’ve completely ran out of options, cousin. You know that. _She_ knows that. Everyone in this room knows that.” He then paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. Turning his head at me, he gave me this _I’m so sorry, but this is for the best_ look before letting out another sigh. “Sending your daughter out in the open is our only chance of winning the game. Besides, she’s only a child, is she not? I’m sure that no one would expect a pretty young lady to keep a blade hidden within the cuff of her sleeve.”

Man, do I really look that young?

Dad was seething. “You want me to witness my _only_ child’s death?”

Okay, what?

I glanced around the room. Only five of us from the Big Ten were present (me, my dad and my three uncles) which, of course, was pretty much understandable (it’s either they’re currently busy with work or locked away inside their own homes, snoring their heads off). But that doesn’t mean that it’s okay for me to pay their argument no mind. I mean, it’s quite obvious that they’re talking about me and were currently in the midst of a heated discussion about whether sending me out there to do another round of man-hunting or not, so hey—spacing out was never an option.

I then found myself stared at by everyone.

I cleared my throat to ease my sudden anxiety. “Y-yes?”

“Were you even listening?” Four groaned and impatiently ran a hand through his graying hair. “Lawrence asked you about your shoulder’s condition! If it’s already free from pain or not!”

“Oh.” Man, I nearly forgot how impatient the old man was. “Well, it’s fine now, I guess. I mean, the pain’s still there, but I can now move it just fine.”

“About this pain you’re feeling,” Three let out a hum. “Is it because of the stitches?”

I nodded.

“Ah, is that so?” Three said, rubbing his chin. “How about your ankle?”

“The swelling’s gone for two days, now.”

“Then you’re ready,” Five said bluntly. “You will leave this noon.”

I goggled at him, clearly petrified. “Huh?”

 _“No!”_ Dad cried out, slamming his hand on the table. “She’s staying!”

Four pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tito—”

“Nobody leaves!” Dad yelled. “She is _my_ daughter! She will only obey _me_ and _my_ orders alone!”

I cringed. Overprotective, much?

“Tito, Thalia’s already twenty-two, for god’s sake!” Five snarled (I decided to be on his side because of that). “Why are you still treating her like a helpless child? Can’t you see that she’s now an adult?” When Dad said nothing in return, he slowly gestured his arm towards me (not sure—for dramatical effect, maybe?). “Let the girl spread her wings and fly. She’s more than what we think she is. We’ve been training her since she was ten, Tito. We’ve been training her for twelve fucking years! And yet you’re still refusing to believe in her abilities? In her knowledge?”

Dad merely stared at me for a whole minute.

I let out a nervous laugh. “Dad, you okay?”

“Go back to your room, Thalia,” my father finally said after an entire minute of awkward silence, before slowly returning the focus of his angry gaze at my uncles. His “advisers”. “We’ll see you again at breakfast.”

“O-okay, then.” Before he could say anything else, I got up from my chair and hightailed it out of there without even bothering to look back.

It’s quite obvious that poop’s going to hit the fan, so why would I even bother?

I just honestly hope that they’re not going to murder each other.

∞

“Honey, wake up!” Mom hollered from the other side of the door. “It’s almost ten in the morning!”

Grumbling from underneath the covers, I let my hand lazily snake its way out into the light and unto the smooth surface of the bedside table, from which I grabbed a hold of my phone before pulling it down to my face (which was still hidden underneath the covers) to check the _real_ time. It only took me a few seconds to realize that my mother was bluffing.

“It’s still 6:35 AM!” I shouted back. I then slammed the device back on the table and let out a yawn. “C’mon, Mom! Just two more hours!”

“Two more hours?” Mom asked, the horror evident in her voice. “Have you been playing games, again?”

I wanted to tell her _No, but I did stay up late to watch the Bay TMNT movies_ (that’s a fact, Jack!—see what I did there?).

“No. Dad woke me up at around one o’clock this morning for a meeting,” I told her instead. Yep. I’m so honest. “I only managed to re-ride my dreamboat around four.”

Mom said nothing. Instead, I heard the door getting unlocked, swung open, swung close and getting locked again.

“What did you talk about?” she asked me, her voice now coming from somewhere above me, her tone urgent.

“Uh…” I was now starting to slur, which was obviously a sign that I was finally finding my way back to Dreamland. “I dunno… Food, maybe…?”

And then I was out.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been sleeping, for the moment I reopened my eyes, I found my nephews lounging casually inside my room. Jackson was playing _Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2_ on my PC while Maxwell watched _IT: Chapter 2_ on his iPad as he laid comfortably on the left side of my bed. 

From the looks of it, I’d say that they’d been here for almost an hour or so.

Dang creeps.

“What the actual fudge?!” I cried out, slamming a hand on Maxwell’s nose (major _oof_ moment!) before rolling out of bed in a state of panic. I then turned to them, my eyes wide and my cheeks now redder than the freshest of tomatoes that Mom really liked to serve for breakfast (and were often paired with one sunny side up egg for each of us). “Why are you guys in my room?!”

“To guard you. Duh?” Jackson replied flatly, his eyes still glued to the screen.

I narrowed my eyes. “From what?”

“Uhhh…” Maxwell let out a pained groan as he massaged his nose, his iPad now forgotten on the mattress. “From your uncles, maybe?”

“From my—oh.” I suddenly became interested with the activity of staring at the floor in awkward silence as realization struck me like lightning.

Mom must’ve given them the order to do so.

Jackson then momentarily paused the game just to give me one of his _You are so in big trouble, buddy_ looks. “Okay, then, smarty-pants. What’s your plan?”

I looked at him funny. “Plan for what?”

“Your mom told us everything, sleepy-head,” Maxwell told me while still obviously in the middle of the attempt of rubbing the pain off his nose. “She also told us about the possibility of your father sending someone else out to do all of the dirty work while you recover.”

My eye twitched. “And that someone is?”

“Nobody knows.” Jackson got up from the chair and stretched. “It could either be Six or Twenty-One, I think.”

“Are you serious?” I raised a brow. “Whoa, dude… Are you telling me that he’s just seriously forgotten the fact that I’m a manhunting expert?”

Maxwell just sat up and shrugged.

“Hey,” my older nephew began, his eyes narrowed. “Just chill, okay? I mean, it’s not so much of a big deal.”

“Not so much of a big deal?” I repeated, goggling at him. _“Not so much of a big deal?_ Jackson, do you honestly have any idea about—”

There was a sudden knock at the door (which kinda made me jump like a shocked rabbit). Our argument was then successfully put to a stop by whoever did the knocking, for the three of us slowly turned our heads towards the door, our eyes wide and our jaws locked in place, as if the knocker was the nightmarish Freddy Krueger himself.

“Pardon the interruption,” Ten managed to say from the other side of the door after a moment of silence, his voice calm and completely unfazed (he must’ve witnessed this kind of argument a lot of times before or something). “Two, your father wants to see you.”

The three of us instantly let out sighs of relief.

“At what reason?” I asked, furrowing my brows as I desperately tried to regain my cool.

“I’m afraid that I cannot tell you that, young miss,” he replied, clearing his throat. “However, I could perhaps tell you that it is something of great importance.”

“Of great importance, eh?” I mused, pinching the bridge of my nose and letting a sigh out. “Fine, then. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Oh? A few minutes, you say?” Ten sounded surprised.

“I just woke up, old man,” I said, huffing. “What did you expect?”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, young miss, but time is running,” Ten uttered, his tone urgent. “He wants to see you, now. And when I say now, I mean it in a way that obviously means right now.”

Seriously, dude, you don’t need to explain it to me like that.

“Fine. I get it,” I finally said, sighing in defeat. Before leaving my room, I shot Jackson one, final look that screams _This isn’t over yet, buddy,_ to which he simply replied to with a light-hearted “heh” (I so wanted to punch him in the face because of it).

The moment I closed the door behind me, I moved my eyes upwards just to take look at Ten’s face, to see if he’s just playing a trick on me or something (I can never be too trusting, you know), only to end up regretting my decision after noticing how grim his expression was. I instantly knew that, once again, my life was on the line. “So… Are you gonna lead the way or not?”

“Why, of course,” Ten merely nodded. “Very well.”


	10. 08

I nearly spat out my tea. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yes,” my father managed after letting out a tired sigh of defeat, his eyes fixated on the new pile of documents found stacked on his desk (he’s obviously desperate enough to look busy) while idly twirling his pen within his hands. “We’ve definitely no other choice but to send you back on the field. If we won’t, then…” Another sigh. “Heaven knows what’ll happen to us if we’ll just sit here and wait for the outcome.”

The inner me was now prancing around the room in excitement. “Whoa… Dad, that’s terrible,” I managed, completely shocked out of my wits. “Where are you sending me this time?”

Dad only gave me his signature _Please don’t mess this up_ look without saying anything, making me swallow.

Please don’t tell me that it’s going to be North Korea…

“The States,” he finally told me after a moment of silence.

I did a spit-take. “W-where?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “It’s because of those goddamn earphones,” my father said while shaking his head, obviously disappointed with my poor reaction. “I said, I’m going to send you to the States.”

The inner me yeeted at the top of her lungs.

Oh, holy cow—I’ve never been to America before! This was certainly a major dream come true for me! Thanks for answering my letter in advance, Santa! You really are the best!

“Oh,” I said while desperately trying my very best to keep my cool. “When?”

“About an hour from now or so,” Dad replied calmly, but it’s quite easy to say that he’s so nervous about the fact that us three would have to live through something quite similar to a long-distance relationship for some time. “You better go and prepare. The airport doesn’t know anything about special treatments.”

“Oh, sure!” I said with a wide grin, finally giving in to the excitement like a little kid (well, there’re tons of people out there who kept on mistaking me for an adolescent, so…). Carefully setting my cup of tea on the table, I got up, gave him another smile, bowed my head and quickly made my way to the door (as if I’m a dog who’s more than ready to go out for a thirty-minute walk or something). “I’ll buy you some souvenirs, too, then!”

Autumnal foliage-crunching, here I come!

“And oh,” Dad added before I could even grab the knob and yank the door open. “Thirteen and Eighteen will come with you.”

I paused, my hand just a few millimeters away from the knob.

My nephews will _what?_

“A-ah, okay, then,” I stuttered. “I’ll see you once everything’s over, then.”

Ah, dang it. There goes my excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, a short one, this time!


	11. 09

Okay, long story-short: I wolfed my breakfast, packed my stuff (my nephews already packed theirs while I was eating—nasty little chicken-heads), kind of begged Ten to do some over-speeding (big mistake, but still worth it), ran straight into the airport the moment we got there (we kind of got ourselves in the tiniest bit of trouble with the security personnel, but they—thankfully—understood every bit of the ruckus), looked for the right line like a bunch of panicked prairie dogs, rested for a couple of minutes as we waited for our scheduled flight and finally boarded the plane with very little hassle.

Oh, and if you’re wondering about the exact city that we’re going to have ourselves splattered into, then I’ll give you the smallest of hints (sorry, I just love doing mind games).

_It starts with an “N” and ends with a “K”. It’s also got a nickname that starts with a “B” and ends with an “E”. What American city is it?_

Huh? Did you say New York? The Big Apple? Oh, wow. You’re good.

And whoa—an additional fact: Dad didn’t choose the Phine brothers to help me finish the job just because they’re Americans, but because of the envious truth that they’ve got their own apartment located within one of New York’s fancy districts (they’re roommates, which was quite understandable—I mean, hey, they’re brothers, so why not?).

Anyway, I was now lounging on my seat, excitedly staring at the scenery found outside (yep, I sat on one of those plane seats found right beside the window—totally the best spot where one could ever be in while in the middle of a flight), as the airline’s pre-recorded voice mascot talked about fastening our seatbelts and the like, along with the fact that the plane’s going to take off within a minute or so. Jackson was noisily snoring his head off (huh, funny—the dude must’ve stayed up all night playing video games or something) while Maxwell, on the other hand, simply browsed through his iPad’s vast collection of horror movies, his headphones on full-blast against his ears (I could totally hear Metallica music).

“Why, hello there!” the flight attendant lady greeted us with a big smile. “Would you like to have some snacks?”

I flashed a look at my nephews. They’re obviously very busy with whatever they’re doing (Jackson with his snoring and Maxwell with his movie), leaving me no other choice but to do all the talking.

“Yes, please!” I returned her smile. “Do you serve pizza?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but all we’ve got on the menu are peanuts and biscuits,” she replied, her voice filled with sincerity.

“Really? I’ll have some of those biscuits instead, then,” I told her with a nonchalant shrug. I then pointed at my party, who, at that moment, absolutely had no care for the world. “Just give them the peanuts.”

The flight attendant lady almost burst out laughing. “Oh, sure!” She paused for a while to hand us (or just simply me, since I was the one who did the receiving) the food, her dark eyes twinkling in amusement. “How about the drinks? Do you want some Coke?”

I had to think about it for a while. “Mountain Dew?”

She nodded in understanding. “All right, then. Just wait here.”

And then she went off to hand our fellow passengers the snacks of their choice.

Casually leaning back into my seat, I idly tore the biscuit wrapping open before picking at its contents, lifting one up to my mouth and taking a bite (not bad, this stuff’s got strawberry jam filling). The plane’s now finally a couple of meters off the ground, and the pre-recorded voice mascot once again announced something about staying in our seats and enjoying the flight.

I closed my eyes and sharply took in a breath.

_Goodbye, Philippines. I’ll see you in a few months—I think._

“Um, miss?”

I snapped my eyes open. Did she get my drink already? That’s fast.

“An old man from the rear asked me to give this to you,” the flight attendant lady said while handing me a small package that’s dutifully wrapped in manila paper. “He said something about seeing you drop this as you and your friends looked for your seats.”

I furrowed my brows in confusion. “Um, I’m sorry, but—but there must be a mistake… I mean, I don’t remember dropping anything.”

“But he was so persistent,” she pressed, still handing me the package. “He really believed that this is yours.”

“Um, okay?” I said warily, finally conceding defeat as I slowly took the package from her grasp. “Thanks, I guess?”

“You’re welcome,” she quickly bowed her head before walking away.

I then slowly drifted my eyes downwards to look at the parcel (which was probably around the size of an iPhone box, by the way) which was now found resting on my lap. Paranoia then began to creep its way into the depths of my brain as countless thoughts swam through my mind. What if it’s a bundle of dried weed mixed with the tiniest bits of cocaine? What if it’s a ticking time bomb? What if it’s a fetus?

Okay, the last one’s pretty gross, I know. Sorry.

Pushing my glasses up to the bridge of my nose (I dumped my contacts, remember? But hey, to be honest, I could see just fine without them), I sucked in a breath, steeling myself to face whatever’s in there.

Ripping the manila paper apart, the package was then revealed to be a sealed black box. Scrunching my nose up in confusion, I cut through the seal with my nails and carefully lifted the lid. Just high enough for me to get a good glimpse at whatever’s inside.

Something leather-ish then caught my eye, making me open the box fully without even bothering to think twice.

My eyes widened at the sight. An American passport?

That’s new.

And weird.

Why would an old dude mistake me, of all people found inside this plane, to be this parcel’s owner? I’ve got to give it back. No—I _must_ give it back.

I raised my hand to capture the flight attendant lady’s attention. Unfortunately enough, she’s still very busy with the activity of giving a bunch of snacks away to our fellow passengers. I moved my head about, desperately looking for someone who’s free enough to approach me.

Thankfully, another flight attendant lady noticed me and calmly walked towards our seats with a smile.

“Yes? How can I help you?” she inquired, her voice soothing.

“Uh, yeah,” I began. “You see, there’s this old dude at the back who obviously mistook me for someone else. He told your fellow flight attendant over there that he saw me drop this package, but—” I stopped myself in an instant as the thought hit me, my eyes widening in wild realization.

The flight attendant did say that the person who “saw” me drop the package as I and my nephews were busily looking for our seats was an old man whose seat location was found within the rear part of the plane. That’s quite reasonable, okay, but hold on for a second—that can’t be right. I mean, we’re seated somewhere within the plane’s midsection, and he, on the other hand, was seated somewhere within the rear. Seeing me “drop” the package was quite an impossible feat, not just because of the fact that there were tons of people inside the plane, but also because of the fact that all were looking for their respective seats to relax on the moment they stepped in.

So how in the world did he “see” me “drop” it?

Unless…

“Miss?” the flight attendant lady called out. “Miss, are you all right?”

“Y-yeah,” I stammered, blinking. “Um, you know what? Just forget I said anything. And—and oh, can I ask for three cups of latte, please?”

She was quiet for a while, those wide, anxious eyes of hers staring deep into my soul. “Are you really sure about that?” she asked me like she’s some kind of smart-ass interrogator who’s really more than eager to impress her boss on her first day. “Look, miss, if you want, I could—”

“I’m fine, lady!” I snapped, my eyebrow now twitching in a wild mixture of impatience and frustration. “And can you _please_ go, now?”

The flight attendant instinctively took a step back due to the sudden change of my mood, her big eyes blinking in shock at my choice of words. With a quick nod of her head, she turned to her left and hastily made her way back towards the front without even bothering to look back.

Guess that I’m not getting those lattes, after all.

Look, I never meant to be rude, okay? It’s just… Her nosy attitude was just definitely uncalled-for. I don’t know why, but the situation just felt like when you meet a random stranger for the first time who just came out of nowhere, scaring every bit of life out of you, only for the poor, little you to end up realizing a split second later that they’ve just poked you between the eyes before running off, screaming their head off like a complete madman while flipping off anyone whom they ran past.

I shook my head and sighed. Well, everything happens for a reason, right?

And besides—we only live once, people! Better wise ourselves up!

Okay, enough of that.

I then once again focused on the passport and the other stuff found stacked neatly inside the box (which were obviously a bunch of folded papers, but most of them were separately sealed within Ziploc bags), my brows furrowed as suspicion began to slowly creep its way into the depths of my mind.

The passport was dutifully cocooned with thick bubble wrap. Found underneath it was a white envelope, showing nobody’s name and address (and when I say “nobody”, I didn’t mean “Nobody”—that was obviously Odysseus’ and Odysseus’ alias alone, not this dude’s), sealed with red wax (probably the person’s a big fan of the middle ages or something). What came next in line were the sealed papers that I’ve already told you about. Found at the upper side corner of the box were three small test-tube-like vials of some sort transparent liquid. Beside this group was another group of three small syringes carefully wrapped separately from one another by a thicker layer of bubble wrap (oh, please don’t tell me that we’re going to inject ourselves with those!). What really caught my eye at that moment were three IDs—each that showed the faces of my nephews and my own—found taped at the very bottom of the box, as if they’re the most important part of the entire lot.

Okay, hold up—how in tarnation did this happen?

IDs found inside a stranger’s “dropped” package with our latest pictures on them? This has to be a joke!

Coincidence? I think not.

_Definitely not._

I swiped the sealed envelope out of the box and hurriedly picked at the wax with my nails. Once the wax was completely gone, I held my breath whilst unfolding the said item (turned out that the envelope was also the letter itself—definitely something that screamed “middle ages”), only to end up almost popping my eyes out of their sockets as I read the entire message.

_**Hello, Two. Quite a pleasant day for a flight, isn’t it, my dear? Fear me not, for you know me better with the pseudonym “Seventy-One”. One has recently given me the instructions to fill you in during the flight just for you to avoid encountering any kind trouble once you’ve reached New York.** _

_**Once inside the city, you will be known as “Sakura Minamoto”. Your true name will remain anonymous except for you and your two comrades—or, if you want, we could just go ahead and say that the true you never left the country, that “Miss Minamoto” was nothing but a mere citizen of the state for a few years. Act normally, as if you’re no different from a simple-minded tourist whose main goal is to take a view at the entire city of New York from their spot found within the safety of the crown of the Statue of Liberty.** _

_**Now, found within the box are documents that I’ve recently concocted just for the sake of this mission of yours. As you can see, there’s an American passport that obviously belongs to “Sakura Minamoto”, all kinds of clearances that you and your comrades may need, the map of the entire city and the map of the abandoned underground tunnels that you may use whenever you’re in need of a quick getaway.** _

_**Let us now move to the tiny bottles and syringes. Of course, none of us are quite sure about the Virus—if it is truly gone due to the vaccine that the International Organization of Health and Medicine had shot into everyone’s system or if that “truth” was nothing but a mere lie. Now, just as what One had instructed, once arriving to the airport, the three of you must inject yourselves with the liquid before leaving the building. It’s a kind of chemical that boosts one’s immunity for ten straight years, making them “invisible” from all sorts of viruses that could potentially cause harm if left unaided.** _

_**And, finally, about the IDs… There are “checkpoints” scattered about the airport’s interior. “Checkpoints” that always stop people in their tracks just for them to be able to run a few tests to see if they have the Virus or not. It’s quite a tricky task to pass through these areas without them noticing your presence. The only way to pass these areas without the bother of tests is to show them those IDs, the “proof” that your systems are “swarming” with all sorts of antibodies that protect you from any form of disease. They will then scan you to see if you’re telling the truth. Thanks to the chemical that you’ve just injected into your bloodstream, they would eventually end up thinking that you really are immune and would let you through without question.** _

_**Oh, and as for your curiosity… The flight attendant’s words might be true. That I may be indeed an old man found seated somewhere within the rear part of the plane. At the same time, however, those words of hers could be filled with nothing but lies. In fact, there is a possibility that I am the flight attendant herself. But I’m very, very, very sorry, Two, for the truth about me is something that you mustn’t know. Something that you aren’t allowed to know…yet.** _

_**I wish you good luck, my dear. May the worst become the best.** _

Oh, great. I’m playing secret agent, again.

Seriously, though… Who the heck did they think I am, James Bond?

“‘Sakura Minamoto’, huh?” Maxwell suddenly mused, which, needless to say, almost made me drop the box and jump out of my seat. “Not bad… Guess that just I’ll call you ‘Kura’, then.”

I goggled at him, petrified. “Were you watching me this whole time?”

He simply shrugged as he returned his focus on his movie. “No use denying it. I mean, dude—shooing that flight attendant away was really rude, y’know.”

Oh.

So _that_ caught his attention, huh?

“I know that,” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. I’m a hundred percent certain that I won’t be able to look directly into that poor woman’s eyes ever again. “Just shut up and focus on your movie. We’ve got a bunch of pretty rough days ahead of us.”

Maxwell merely chuckled. “Gotcha.”


	12. 10

The moment we stepped into the vast airport of New York, I hurriedly pulled my boys into the nearest bathroom and had ourselves injected with the unnamed chemical (which proved to be quite a hassle—I mean, I never knew that Jackson’s the type of guy who’s afraid of needles!). After that, well…

Let’s just say that we did everything in accordance with Seventy-One’s (or my father’s, rather) instructions.

Everything went so smoothly. After retrieving our stuff and buying ourselves some decaffeinated coffee from the airport’s local (but fancy) café (it was already midnight when we got there), we just simply slung our respective IDs around our necks and later on found ourselves breezing through every checkpoint found available within the vicinity. The medical personnel would just take one look at them before waving us off, saying that we’re already “clear” and were now free to proceed to whatever checkpoint that they’ve got in store for everyone.

The only checkpoint that we haven’t checked out yet was the scanning area.

The only checkpoint that I found to be very, _very_ annoying.

I mean, hey! The one assigned with the scanning (a super-friendly chubby blonde who’s probably around her late forties or something) was very nosy and chatty! After seeing the results of our scans, she praised us, saying that we’ve got pretty strong systems, before proceeding on with the endless shooting of questions about us getting sick with Covid-19 before or not and the like. Her rowdy chattering took us around ten whole minutes before she finally (and thankfully) decided to stop and let us be with our lives. But the three of us knew better than relaxing while she’s around. So, before she could even say anything in addition, the three of us were already bolting through the doors, as if we’re a bunch of Naruto-wannabes.

Without saying a word, Jackson caught ourselves the first cab uptown.

“Four hundred-and-ten West Twenty-fourth Street, West Chelsea,” he told the driver while taking a sip of his now-lukewarm coffee. “And make it fast, please.”

Fancy apartment, here I come!

I literally ran into the apartment right after Jackson unlocked the door, excitedly squealing my head off like a child (well, I _do_ have a baby face, so it’s not illegal) as I darted from one spot to another while looking at random stuff found lying about with so much wonder (again, the baby face). After a whole minute of running around, I finally decided to dive into the couch to calm myself down and take in some of Manhattan’s nighttime air (and yes, I _literally_ dove into the said furniture, which almost led to the breakage of my glasses).

“I’m in New York! I’m in New York!” I let out an excited, fangirl-ish giggle while drumming my feet on the couch, burying my face into one of the throw pillows a few moments later as I let out another excited squeal. “Major oh, em, gee! I _must_ be dreaming! This is _so-o-o-o-o_ good to be true! New York, New York, New—oh, wait,” I sat up in an instant and turned my head around to face my nephews whilst furrowing my brows. “Is this real life, right now?”

My nephews were found standing just a few feet away from me, obviously desperate enough to hold their laughter back.

Man, the awkward tension was killing me.

“Y-you know, Auntie,” Jackson began, chuckling. “There are a lot of ways to, um, ‘celebrate’ our arrival. I-I mean…” He paused, grinning at me like an idiot from ear to ear, before finally giving in to the horrible temptation of laughing his head off at me.

Maxwell succumbed to the force of laughter, as well.

I simply sat there, stunned, my eyes as wide as saucers, as I stared at them in disbelief and embarrassment.

Ah, I hate myself.

 _How about digging a hole, crawling into it and giving them the order to cover it with a mixture of sand and gravel with you in it so that you can NEVER get out to see the sun again?_ the inner me offered.

Huh, not a bad idea…

But no.

Just… Please, no.

“Hey!” I snapped as my cheeks began to feel warm. “I’ve never been to New York before, you know! That’s just so mean of you!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Jackson managed between laughs. “It’s just—I mean—Lia, you’re just too cute!”

My face was now definitely redder than a beet. “I’m just too _what?”_

“Okay, enough of that!” my oldest nephew finally said, clearing his throat after (successfully) forcing himself to stop laughing. “Just… Just don’t do it again, ‘kay?”

I was now beginning to a lot look like the Grumpy Cat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Maxwell then cleared his own throat. “Hey, my brother already said sorry, didn’t he?”

I stared at him for a while, obviously annoyed out of my wits, before shifting my gaze to the throw pillow on my lap, crossing my arms and letting out a sigh. “Fine, then. Whatever. I know that doing such an action was quite unacceptable to be done by someone such as myself, but—”

“Thal, listen,” Jackson pressed, cutting me off. “You’re in New York, now. With us. In our apartment. _All by ourselves._ Your dad wouldn’t know a damn thing about you acting all goofy and stuff. Live your life while you’re at it. Act normal—no, scratch that— _be_ normal. Act your age!”

“‘Act my age’?” I raised a brow. “Am I seriously _that_ matured for you?”

“Well, yeah,” Maxwell shrugged. “And hey—we’re in New York! Nobody really cares about the way you act or dress, here, you know. It’s okay to be weird.”

I had to think about it.

I guess that my thinking was just too long for the men’s liking, since Jackson eventually chose to break my line of thought before I could even manage to come up with a solid idea and say something about it.

“Remember—we all gotta keep a low profile,” he told me, his brows wiggling.

Well, they _do_ have a point.

Besides, I’ve never really enjoyed my childhood, so…

“Okay, you guys win,” I sighed in defeat. “I’ll ‘act my age’ and ‘be normal’.”

“That’s the spirit!” Jackson grinned, happy about the outcome of his and his brother’s pressing. He then grabbed my stuff and walked towards the circular wooden staircase (do New York’s fancy apartments always have circular staircases in them?). “C’mon, bud! I’ll show you your room.”

Sighing, I pushed my glasses up to the bridge of my nose and stood up to follow him. Maxwell then went off the other way before I could even take a step (I don’t know, maybe to the study or the kitchen), telling me that he wanted to “show me something that could totally make my day”.

The entire Harry Potter book series, maybe?

Okay, whatever it is, I just hope that it isn’t too girly for my taste.

“Honestly, Jax,” I began while following my oldest nephew up the stairs, my eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If you filled my room with frills and pink, I swear that I’m gonna barf my heart out.”

“Hey, relax, kiddo,” Jackson let out a laugh, now on top of the stairs and walking down the hall. “We’re not downright assholes, you know. I mean, hey—everyone in the family knows that you _hate_ pink!”

“Yeah. So does my mom and dad,” I rolled my eyes. I suddenly remembered my fourteenth birthday, the same day when Mom and Dad decided to give me a seven-foot tall gigantic teddy bear bearing the cursed hue (I could still remember fourteen-year-old me crying my head off in disappointment and stomping my way back into my room, never to be seen again for an entire week, much to my parents’ chagrin). Ah, memories. It’s totally a big “adolescence ruined” for me.

“We’re here!” Jackson announced while digging out the key from his pocket. It took him about a minute or so to fish it out before finally unlocking the door, pushing it open with his foot and walking inside. “Please do feel free to feel yourself at home!”

“Yeah…” I managed, eying the interior as I walked in as well. “Thanks…”

The room was simple, with light blue-and-white walls, a white ceiling littered with glow-in-the-dark stars and a brown floor. The queen-sized bed found at the middle was a simple (yet interesting) mixture of brown, white, blue and the tiniest bits of red (the pillows and mattress were covered with white linen, but the duvet was a stunning sea of blue mixed with a few, yet scattered, dots of red). The doors of the walk-in closet were simply painted brown with glaze all over it, but the closet’s interior was mostly a generous mixture of white and blue. The side table found beside the bed was a bold mixture of brown and white, a great combination with the colors of the bed. The brown, wooden desk was seen facing the window that was neatly framed with white curtains tied to the sides. A few feet away (but in front) of the bed, attached to the wall, was a forty-inch flatscreen TV (major jaw drop), and, below it, a PlayStation.

I blinked. “Is this real life, right now?”

Jackson laughed again. “Duh.”

Okay. Wow. Just wow.

New York was definitely just too fancy for my taste.

“Thalia?” Maxwell called from the doorway. “Remember this little guy?”

I turned my head to look at whatever he’s talking about, only to end up squealing my head off in joy.

“Ninja!” I cried out while running to him. “It’s so good to see you, again!”

Who’s who? Oh, pipe down! I’ll make sure to tell you everything about this “Ninja” guy. Just sit back and relax, okay?

Ninja was my pet red-eared slider. I only had him last year, when I was still twenty-one, but I just can’t deny the fact that I had instantly formed a pretty strong bond with the terrapin. A bond so strong that Ninja would always be seen perched on top of my shoulder like a pirate captain’s pet parrot (yeah, he wanted to be a bird—nah, just kidding). Unfortunately for my part, since I was just too dang busy dealing with work and school, I had no other choice but to ask Maxwell to look after him for me. Honestly, I thought that Maxwell would just leave him in an aquarium all alone until the very day of his death. But hey, life’s always full of surprises (and I’ve never felt so thankful before, so yeah).

“Ninja?” Jackson managed after a pause. “Wait, your pet turtle’s name is ‘Ninja’?”

I ignored him as I blissfully petted Ninja’s shell. “There, there… Who’s the good turtle, huh? Who’s the good turtle?”

“To tell you the truth, I was pretty shocked myself,” Maxwell said, chuckling. “Why name your pet turtle ‘Ninja’, anyway? I mean, you always had the option of giving it better names. You’re a big Turtle fan, too, so—”

“Naming it ‘Michael Bay’ also isn’t a bad idea,” Jackson mused, jokingly.

I slowly turned my head to him, my eyes wide and the corner of my mouth twitching (I dare you to imagine _The Ring_ with this). “Don’t you ever _dare_ mention that name in my presence ever again.”

Jackson shrank back in an instant. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

Maxwell then placed a hand on my head and ruffled my hair. “Okay, then, Sadako. He gets it. You can calm down, now.”

I rolled my eyes and slapped his hand away. “Fair enough. Besides, we need to rest. Get the much-needed sleep that all of us deserve. Ignore the jet lag, hit the hay and ride our own respective dreamboats. None of us here knows when the second set of instructions will arrive.”

“As always.” Jackson puffed up his cheeks and blew.

“Good,” I said, nodding my head in satisfaction. “Preparing ourselves for the worst is always a must.”

And boy, wasn’t I right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really do the same if I hear _that_ dude's name.
> 
> I mean, hey, I'm no Bay hater, but the way he treated the actors and actresses that worked under him was just totally unfair. Now, think about Megan Fox--we all owe her a big apology. She became Hollywood's "sex symbol" because of him--I mean, hello? Who in their right mind would actually instruct a 15-year-old lady to dance in nothing but a bikini and heels under cold, gushing water inside a bar? Michael Bay, that's who. And who would ask an actress to wash his Ferrari while he records it, saying that it's her "audition" clip? Michael Bay, yet again! And whaaaaaat's with this new Songbird movie? Something about the virus' mutated descendant? NOT COOL, BUDDY! Yeah, you might be wealthy, but a lot of peeps from Hollywood and beyond hate you!
> 
> And if you're wondering about why I took so much effort with the room's description, well... I just recently graduated from a crash course of interior design, and I can't help but let the idea flow through. Heh...
> 
> Okay, that's it. I've said enough.


	13. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn... My Microsoft Office subscription just expired. Heh, gotta travel to all sorts of websites just to find the perfect crack.

I never imagined that I would end up suffering insomnia that night.

I mean, yeah, sure, the jet lag’s there, but that doesn’t mean that I would put all of the blame on it. I mean, there’s also this undeniable mixture of excitement and anxiety that kept on giving me random thoughts to ponder about (like how the _real_ pumpkin-spiced latte _really_ tasted like). My father—no, scratch that—my family sent me here for one thing _and_ one thing only: to hunt down Varone’s friends and end their lives with my own hands.

Okay, that’s it. I’m definitely going to become the gender-bend version of John Wick, now.

I let out a groan as I rubbed my face in frustration. Paranoia was now slowly creeping its way into my brain, making me a hundred times more nervous than before. How in the world can I find them? What if they’re just too smart for me to handle? What if they’re not here in New York? What if _they_ find _me_ first?

Shuddering, I finally decided to take a quick stroll to ease my mind.

Besides, a lot of people did say that New York is much better at night, yeah? So, why not?

 _Bad idea!_ the inner me screamed as I grabbed myself a fresh set of clothes. _You know nothing about New York!_ Nothing! _Please, think about it! What if you lose your way? What if someone pulls you into the shadows and rapes you? What if someone mugs you? What if someone kills you? Just ditch your idea of having a happy walk downtown tonight and get some sleep!_

Okay, now those were a lot of “what if’s”.

But nope. I ain’t listening. Not tonight.

Slipping my black Converse on, I looked at the mirror one last time before leaving for tonight’s walk. A pair of blue jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a black hoody. Yep, totally simple. Oh, better not forget my glasses, phone and face mask (wearing one already became a habit of mine, so stop judging).

I grabbed fifty bucks from the wallet that Jackson gave me earlier, said goodbye to a sleeping Ninja, crept out of my room and into the dark hallway, tip-toed down the stairs, made my way to the door and finally made my successful exit from the apartment.

I honestly never thought that sneaking out would be that easy (but I wasn’t suggesting that you’ll do the same thing in the middle of the night, hey).

Like an idiot, I started grinning at the fact that I just learned while casually making my way to the elevator. My nephews wouldn’t know a thing about it, for sure. Hey, it’s just a quick stroll, right? There’s nothing much to it for them to worry about. Besides, I would probably be back at around one-something AM.

As if on cue, my phone eventually decided to go wild, causing me to jump back in shock a few moments just after I pressed the “down” elevator button.

Pulling it out of my pocket, I glared at the screen, only to end up raising a brow in confusion after realizing the fact of it bearing the number of an unknown caller. A part of me was yelling no, that taking that call would definitely lead to the ruin of my (peaceful) plans for tonight, but, quite unfortunately for that part of mine, my curiosity said so, otherwise.

After entering the elevator (and after making sure that no one’s following me), I finally decided to answer the call. Placing the device next to my ear, I slowly let out a shaky breath to calm the insane beating of my heart. “H-hello?”

 _ **“Good evening, Two,”**_ greeted a woman’s husky voice from the other line. _**“This is One Hundred-and-Fourteen, speaking.”**_

I hate you, curiosity!

“I do believe that this is the first time I’ve heard your voice,” I managed, desperate to sound formal. “Very well, then. State your business.”

 _ **“It is about the manhunt,”**_ One Hundred-and-Fourteen began (man, wasn’t I glad to have the entire elevator to myself). _**“One of our informants had just recently lost their life whilst in the attempt of sending me the information needed for you and your comrades to proceed to the next step.”**_

I could feel my eyes widening as silence successfully took its toll upon me, her words repeatedly swimming around in my head for a full minute. An informant of ours? Dead? How? When? Why? How could that be possible? Was their computer hacked? Did someone see them do it and reported it to the bad guys? Did they take the wrong turn? Or…

…may heaven _please_ forbid…

Did someone from our line of subordinates betray them?

I wildly shook my head. No, that can’t be possible…right?

 _ **“Thankfully, they were smart enough to deliver it to me by mail. All the information that you’ll ever need are stored within the flash drive that they’ve sent me,”**_ One Hundred-and-Fourteen continued, her calm tone now obviously forced. _**“However, you must hurry. I am quite aware that the enemy now knows about the flash drive. They would surely come after me anytime soon.”**_

“Where’s your current location?” I asked, my heart beating wildly as the adrenaline slowly crawled its way into my system. “I’ll come get you!”

 _ **“No!”**_ she cried out. _**“Two, please, focus on the mission! What you need right now is the flash drive and its contents, not my life!”**_

I tried to protest. “That’s crazy! What if—”

 _ **“Please, no more!”**_ One Hundred-and-Fourteen pleaded. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, a sudden ringing of continuous gunshots and a bloodcurdling scream (that obviously came from my informant).

“One Hundred-and-Fourteen?!” I yelled into my phone, panicking.

 _ **“They found me!”**_ she cried out between pants. _**“Please, hurry!”**_

Then she hung up.

Oh. That escalated quickly.

Okay. A peaceful stroll, I said.

Heh.

More like a _chaotic race!_

I jabbed the button bearing the floor number of my nephews’ place (which was found within the tenth floor—the view’s quite nice from up there, by the way, especially at night) while walking around the elevator in panic. A lot of questions were then invading my mind, successfully awakening the sleeping beast of paranoia that was buried deep inside it. What in the world was inside that flash drive? Why was that informant killed because of it? How can I save One Hundred-and-Fourteen’s life?

Whatever the answers were, I swore to myself that I would _never_ fail the clan’s expectations with this one.

Just as the elevator doors slid open with a ding, I literally took one, huge leap out before running all the way back to the apartment like an Olympian. Once inside, I hurried up the stairs and kicked the doors of their respective rooms open. “Oi, wake up!” I yelled like a high-ranking official from the military while stomping my way back into my room just to carelessly toss my glasses to my desk. “We’ve got work to do!”

“Huh?” Jackson managed to ask despite his groggy state (good, he didn’t change into his pajamas, yet). Rubbing his eyes, he let out a loud yawn and stretched out his arms. “Thalia, isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Didn’t you hear me, Jax?” I snapped. “WE’VE GOT WORK TO DO, DAMMIT!”

He stared at me for a while, his eyes widening. “Where the hell did all of that energy come from?”

“JUST SHUT IT AND LET’S GO!” I shouted, stomping on his foot with all I’ve got before marching my way back downstairs. “MAX!”

“I heard you!” Maxwell said in reply from within his room, obviously panicking his head off (I guess that he’s changing out of his pajamas). “J-just a moment!”

“NO MORE TIME TO WASTE!” I angrily told them (oh, guess that I’m a Karen, now). “WE’VE GOT SOME INFORMATION TO COLLECT AND A SUBORDINATE TO SAVE, YOU HEAR ME? _A SUBORDINATE TO SAVE!_ NOW, MOVE YOUR SORRY ASSES AND LET’S GO!”


	14. 12

Somewhere, in a parallel universe, I was now calmly strolling my way through Central Park while listening to the satisfying sound of crunching leaves found beneath my feet.

In this universe? Oh, nothing peaceful, I assure you.

It’s just that I was found at the backseat of Jackson’s over-speeding 2020 Kia Soul while hastily tapping my fingers against my phone’s screen, now obviously consumed by deranged panic, as I tried (with so much desperation) to trace One Hundred-and-Fourteen’s current whereabouts with wide eyes.

“Got anything?” Jackson asked me, his eyes glued on the road while continuously stepping on the gas to give his car more speed (which kind of made me regret the decision of letting him take the wheel).

“Nothing!” I said, now exasperated. Great, the dang woman must’ve broken her phone or something. Totally something worth panicking about. “Max, buddy, how about you?”

“Still nothing!” he replied while tightening his grip on his seatbelt (poor guy—his knuckles were turning white!). “Sorry, kid!”

I gritted my teeth. Oh, wow. A wild goose chase, eh? My, how charming!

NOT!

Groaning, I smacked my head against the rolled-up window found at my right as the blues instantly found their way into the depths of my mind. So, this was it, huh. I’ve failed my duty. We’ve failed our task. The trip—no—the entirety of the mission itself was useless. I’m a hundred percent positive that we’ll end up losing our heads because of this. Like, _literally_ lose our heads.

Ah, great. I hate myself.

“Holy shit!” Jackson screamed as he stepped on the breaks. The tires let out an ear-piercing screech due to the presence of friction before finally skidding to a complete stop. If it weren’t for the seatbelts, the three of us would obviously then have our faces planted on the windshield by now.

“Dude, the heck?!” I cried out in shock, my eyes widening as my poor heart hammered from deep within my chest. Honestly, if I just ate something a couple of minutes prior to this road trip, I would’ve barfed my head off, by now.

Maxwell wasn’t any better. Judging by the paleness of his face, I’d say that he’s already so close to having a heart attack.

“Jackson, what the heck was that for?!” I demanded, now on the verge of snapping. “Look, if this is one of those stupid _Hot Wheels_ stunts of yours—”

“The N.Y.C.P.D.,” my oldest nephew uttered, completely still as a statue. “They’re coming this way. Not good.”

I froze. “The what?”

“Oka-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay, guys… Calm down,” Jackson instructed, his breathing erratic as sweat now started to form on his brow. “I-I’ll handle this one, don’t you worry.”

“That’s it. We’re going to jail,” Maxwell whimpered.

“Wha—hey!” Jackson growled. “You don’t trust your big brother, anymore?”

“Your communication skills suck, bro,” Maxwell said as a matter-of-factly (really can’t blame him—I mean, Jackson’s quite the sucker if it comes to socializing). “There’s no way you could talk our way out of this.”

The man could be now dubbed as “Jackson my Red-Eared Nephew”, since his ears were now so red that one couldn’t really tell if he just got out from an extremely hot shower or if he’s just drowning within the deep sea of embarrassment. “That was in high school!”

“Are you sure about that?”

_“Max!”_

“Whatever.”

The police car was now found right beside our own.

An officer then stepped out and calmly walked towards Jackson’s side of the vehicle with a grim look found stamped on his tired face.

“Evening, gentlemen,” he greeted, nodding his head to my nephews (who were now as still as Andy’s toy soldiers from the _Toy Story_ movie series within their seats).

“E-evening, sir,” Jackson managed. “H-how can we help you?”

I almost had a hand planted on my face after hearing him say that. I mean, shouldn’t it be the other way around? _Dude, why would you ask a police officer that?_ We’re not guilty of anything!

Well, except for over-speeding, that is.

“Don’t you people have any idea how late it is right now?” the officer asked with a troubled sigh. Shaking his head and crossing his arms, he gave Jackson a dirty look before continuing with his speech. “Look, I don’t know what you people are up to, but I suggest that it would be better for you to—”

“To what?” I asked abruptly while poking my head into view, my brows furrowed. The gears inside my head were now going crazy—there’s no way that I would just sit here and do nothing! Besides, One Hundred-and-Fourteen’s still out there with the precious info that we all so-needed for the manhunting! “To go home and leave my cat out here to _die?”_

My nephews looked at me in bewilderment, their eyes wide.

The officer was twice as shocked as they were. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Are you deaf?” I barked. “My cat’s been missing for a day now, mister! And you’re telling us to just _go home?_ Gods, don’t you have any feelings?”

“Oh.” The look on the officer’s face obviously screamed _This girl is a psychotic spoiled brat!_ as he stared at me, wide-eyed, in silence. “So, your cat is missing…”

“And not just any cat!” I added, not to mention rather sassily, my manner of speaking successfully (I think) giving off the snobby high school cheerleader vibe. “She’s a precious little Persian! I’ve had her since I was ten. And because of it, my little Persian is—”

“All right, all right. Your cat’s missing, I get it,” the officer told me with a sigh, the calmness of his voice now obviously forced.

I nodded with a stern smile (which was hidden behind my mask), feeling pleased with the positive outcome of my impromptu acting. “Thank you.”

The officer looked displeased with his defeat. “You can roam the entire city for as long as you want for that cat,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “However, please do keep in mind to stay away from the subway.”

“The subway?” Maxwell inquired, raising a brow. “How come?”

The officer was about to open his mouth to reply, but then his buddy yelled something from within the safety of their car, causing him to just simply nod his head at us as a gesture of saying goodbye before walking back to the said vehicle, re-entering it, and speeding off into the distance. He and his buddy must’ve received a new assignment or something, I wasn’t sure (I mean, I never really heard whatever the dude was saying). The only thing that I was sure about now was the subway.

Besides, why would he tell us not to go anywhere near the place? 

“Jackson, you know where to go,” I instructed, my mind now wilder than ever. “And please… _Do_ make it fast.”

∞

Something was _definitely_ up.

The moment we reached the station (the West Fourth Street-Washington Square station, to be exact), the three of us were bombarded with the scene of countless police cars found scattered about, along with a couple of news vans found parked nearby (I could definitely hear 1987 April O’Neil’s voice). Some of the police officers were seen yelling into their walkie-talkies, obviously requesting for more back-up, as their friends stood their ground by the hoods of their respective cars, their guns out and held at the ready, their eyes glued on the subway entrance.

Oh, wow. Were they shooting the third Bay TMNT movie or something?

“Stay here,” Jackson ordered, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“What?” Maxwell and I asked in unison, our eyes widening.

“You heard me,” Jackson said, not to mention rather stiffly, while pushing the door open. “You two stay put. I’ll go ahead and ask about whatever the hell’s going on here.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Maxwell cried out, grabbing his brother’s arm with both hands as if his life depended on it. “Don’t you think that it’s a bit rushed?”

“Max’s right,” I said, my eyes now as wide as saucers. “The three of us are a team. We _must_ stick together no matter what.”

“And then what? Let the bad guys know that it’s us who’re sent out to finish them off?” Jackson shot me a look. “Look, I know you’re worried about our safety, _Sakura_ , but I just can’t risk it! _We_ can’t risk it! Let me handle this on my own, okay? Besides, with all of these people around, I think that I could survive just fine.”

I huffed in defeat. “All right, then. Do as you wish. I’m not stopping you.”

“Dude! No way!” Maxwell said firmly. “We’re coming with!”

“No, stay!” Jackson ordered, as if his brother was no different from a neighbor’s pet dog. “Didn’t you hear me? We _can’t_ risk exposing ourselves! So, you better shut up, stay in the car, relax _and_ look after Auntie while I’m away. Have I made myself clear, little bro?”

How old did he think I was, four?!

“Fine!” Maxwell barked. “Just don’t haunt us if someone _does_ shoot you!”

Jackson looked like he’s more than ready to punch Maxwell any moment, now. “Fair enough,” he said flatly, before slamming the door shut on our faces and running towards one of the walkie-talkie officers to ask whatever question he’s got in store.

Rude.

“Why did you give in so fast?” asked my youngest nephew.

I raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re the leader of the team, right?” Maxwell continued, his voice cracking. “Why didn’t you come up with some shitty excuse inside your head? Why did you let him go? Why did you—” He turned around in his seat to face me, his eyes wide and now beginning to tear up. “—just let him _fucking_ do whatever he wants?”

The sudden aggression within his voice caused me to shrink back.

He’s right… Why did I?

“J-Jax’s got a point,” I pointed out, stuttering. “There’s—”

“Oh, forget it!” Maxwell growled, turning away and crossing his arms. “You’ll never understand it, anyway. I mean, hey! You don’t have a brother anymore, yeah? So why would you even bother worrying about mine?”

My jaw went slack as his words successfully sank within the depths of my mind. “Hey, are you telling me that I’m merciless? That I don’t know how to lead this team to victory?”

“You were never supposed to be the one leading us, to begin with,” Maxwell snapped.

I suddenly found myself crying.

“Well, _excuse me!”_ I cried out through gritted teeth. “I _never_ wanted to become the heir in the first place! All I ever wanted was to live a normal life, live inside a normal house, bond with a pair of normal parents _and_ get a normal job! And then bam! Here you are, thinking that I’ve always wanted to become the heir to the bloody throne!” I then raised a foot and kicked against the back of his seat, hard. “Well, guess what? Fuck that ideology! Fuck everything! Fuck you, fuck your brother _and_ fuck my fucking life! Go ahead—join your brother. I’m outta here.”

And with that, I unbuckled my seatbelt, kicked the door open, and stormed my way out of the area. I could hear Maxwell yelling, desperately begging for me to come back and that he’s sorry. Quite unfortunately for him, I let my rage get its way.

He’s doubting me? Fine, then. I’ll look for One Hundred-and-Fourteen myself…

…even if it’s the last thing I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time for them to show up!


	15. 13

Separating myself from the group was totally a bad idea.

I know what you’re going to say. _It’s your first time in New York, dummy! Why did you let your anger win? Why didn’t you just follow your nephew out of the car? Why did you get so emotional over something so trivial?_ Oh, I don’t know! Why don’t you go ahead and try getting yourself into my shoes just for you to understand my point?

Sucks, doesn’t it?

Okay, enough with that.

Now, let me ask you a question… What will you do just for you to get in and out of something…let’s say an unexpected street fight…with ease?

Take a stroll through the sewers, that’s what.

I honestly thought that I could easily find a way inside the station if I’ll just go ahead and use the route through the sewers (big mistake—the entire place reeks!). Every step felt so squishy and disgusting, leaving me no other choice but to make haste before the disgusting sewer water could even seep its way into my socks. I’ve been wandering within the darkness for about ten minutes now, having nothing else to guide me but my phone’s flashlight as a light source to see whatever’s up ahead. The ground was littered with all sorts of garbage and bodily waste ( _don’t_ make me describe it, please) mixed with the green-ish sewer water. The walls were covered with a generous layer of graffiti (funny, there must’ve been some kids who’re either brave or crazy enough to go down here), causing the place to feel a little less lonely (but it still stinks). However, one thing caught my attention, for most of the graffiti found all over the place said the same thing:

**We’re here!**

Who’s “here”, exactly?

Well, why do I even care? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to stay here for another ten minutes. My shoes will be completely soaked if I do! Besides, my phone’s already running out of battery life, so I really got no other choice but to hurry the heck out before it’s too late.

My phone then let out a warning beep after a minute of hurried walking. Great, the battery must’ve got only fifteen percent or something.

Heh. I’m doomed.

Swearing, I slammed my fist against the wall. Why did I let my anger get the best of me? No, scratch that—why did I let my pride get the best of me? If I didn’t do that steamy exit, then my nephews and I would’ve probably found One Hundred-and-Fourteen by now.

The flash drive, too.

“Stupid!” I cried while repeatedly hitting my head with my fists (and phone). “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Why, Thalia? Why?” I could feel the tears flowing out again. “He only told you the truth, didn’t he? He only told you the truth! So, why? Why walk away? Why be offended? Ugh, stupid!”

I kept on cursing and hitting myself for an entire minute or two until I can no longer handle the pain that I’ve inflicted on my head. My phone also beeped for the second time, obviously telling me that it’s only got ten bars left and was now needing to be recharged.

Okay. Now what?

 _An exit, dumbo!_ the inner me snapped. _Look for an exit and contact the guys before it’s too late!_

That sounds like a plan.

Wiping the tears away, I hurriedly made my move, desperately trying to save my phone’s remaining battery life. My mask was now pretty soggy due to the presence of sweat and tears, leaving me no other choice but to yank it away from my face and toss it somewhere behind me as I ran on. Big mistake. The putrid smell was now doubled in strength. I can’t do anything to block it besides breathing through my mouth (which was pretty nasty) while pinching my nose, but what choice do I have? None, right? Besides, holding my breath while running would, for sure, only make me faint, so why would I even bother to do it?

Just as I was about to dash into another tunnel in hopes of finding an exit, a faint cry for help echoed against the dark walls, successfully stopping me from going anywhere farther.

“Hello?” I warily called out into the darkness while wildly moving my phone about. “Is anybody there?”

It only took me a good ten seconds before receiving a reply.

“I’m right here!” Judging by the sound of the voice, I’d say that the speaker was, obviously, a full-grown woman.

“Where?” I was now starting to panic while trying to find the exact location of the voice’s owner (I mean, the sewers have tons of tunnels to choose from).

“Right here!” The voice was now getting louder. “Please— _ugh_ —hurry!”

Why in the world did the voice sound so awfully familiar?

Droplets of the disgusting sewer water were now splattered all over the lower part of my jeans as I started to run towards the voice. I no longer worried about the possibility of it being a trap or whatsoever. All I cared about now was that this person needed my help, along with the fact that I’m no longer alone within the dark, smelly sewers of New York City.

That we could go and look for an exit.

Together.

Whoa, okay. Now that sounded so gay.

Skidding to a stop (causing the sewer water to splash outwards in front of me), I let myself breathe (yep, just gotta ignore the smell) for a while to calm my raging heart. My phone didn’t make the third beep, yet, which would only mean that its battery life was still somewhere around six to nine percent.

I need to think and move fast.

“Hello?” I called out again, once again wildly moving my phone here and there. “Where are you? Ma’am? Are you here? Can you hear me? Ma’am?”

“Right here!” the voice said from somewhere to my left.

I then hurriedly moved my phone to the said direction, causing the beam of light to land on a black-haired woman’s bloody face.

I nearly screamed at the sight.

“O-oh my gosh!” I said, completely shocked out of my wits, while pressing a hand against my mouth. I stood there like an idiot for a good twenty seconds or so before realizing that I could still move my legs. “A-are you okay?! What happened?!”

She only let out a groan the moment I knelt by her side.

“Hey!” I said, once again starting to panic (I wasn’t really good at giving first aid). I tapped her shoulder a few times before eventually deciding to wipe the blood off her face with the sleeve of my hoody. “Ma’am, stay with me!”

“…sh drive…” she managed to say between groans while weakly handing me something that’s firmly wrapped with manila paper.

I raised a brow. “What?” I then looked down at her bloody hand and cringed. Three of her fingers were (obviously) just recently chopped off, causing the blood to continuously ooze out and drip its way down to her ripped jeans. There was also a fresh gunshot wound on her forearm, obviously indicating the possible thought of her using the said part of her body to shield herself.

She must’ve gone through hell or something.

“Flash drive…” she repeated, now gasping for the much-needed air. “My phone’s inside my pocket… Contact the first number found on the list and—ugh—ask her to meet up with you. Give her the flash drive… Give her the flash drive…”

I froze in mid-wipe the moment I recognized her voice. “Aizza?” I asked her, my voice shaky and soft. “Is… Is that you?”

The woman froze as well. “Thalia…?”

Oh, gods… Please, no…

Aizza Camposano was a cousin of mine. As a kid, I always followed her wherever she goes (heck, I could still remember the four-year-old me following her into the bathroom, much to her annoyance). We were so close that little me ended up seeing her as my very own “big sister” (much to her parents’ and older brothers’ amusement). We would always visit each other’s houses during the holidays to exchange gifts, eat cookies and sing carols, but all of it ended the moment she and her family decided to move to Chicago when I was eight. Sure, we exchanged letters and stuff, but the letter-exchange ended, too, the moment she entered college.

Her mother then told me that she studied medicine, graduated at the top of her class, and was now working as a full-time pharmacist. I’ve never felt so proud before in my entire life. My cousin, best friend _and_ big sister was now a pharmacist! Who knew that she’ll make it that far? But…

But I never knew that she was recruited to become an informant, as well…

“Well, what do you know?” Aizza managed, chuckling weakly. “My little cousin, of all people, is having a solo adventure within the sewers of New York.”

“I thought you’re in Chicago!” I told her, now crying.

“And I thought you’re in the Philippines,” she retorted playfully, only to end up coughing her head off and spewing some blood a moment later. “S-sorry, cuz… J-just got a bit carried away, there…”

“What happened?” I demanded, sobbing. “Aizza, _tell me!”_

“There’s no time,” Aizza said firmly while weakly shoving the tiny package into my chest. “Take it and— _ugh_ —get away from here, _now.”_

“And just leave you here to die?” I was now getting hysterical. “No—I’m not leaving you! I-I’ll get help!”

“Listen to me!” Aizza snapped, grabbing me (with her hand that still has its complete collection of five fingers, of course) by the collar of my shirt and pulling me close. “Thalia, honey, let’s face it—I’m dying. I’ve lost so much blood within the past hour. I’ve got three of my fingers chopped off _and_ a bullet buried inside my arm. Now, tell me… Do you think that I could still survive, considering these injuries, hm? Do you really think that I could still—let’s say—continue living a normal life after this? No, Thalia. I can’t. They’ve seen my face, sweetheart. They _will_ recognize me, no matter how hard I try.”

“How about plastic surgery?” I suggested. “We could always try that one!”

Aizza silently stared at me for a while, obviously deep in thought. She then opened her mouth to retort (probably something that’s related to the medicinal field or something), but before she could even produce a single syllable from the back of her throat, a couple of hurried splashes were heard from somewhere to our right, as if someone—or _something_ —was out there in the dark, watching us.

Okay, now that was just creepy.

“Aizza, please!” I pressed, grabbing her hand. “You don’t have to worry about a thing! I-I mean… I can protect you, you know! I’m not a little kid, anymore!”

“But you’re still younger than me,” my cousin said as a matter-of-factly. “You know what that means, right?”

My sobbing only became harder.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Aizza then let out another weak chuckle, this time in a way that made her sound as if she triumphed over something that’s quite difficult for her to bear. “Now, let me repeat myself, okay? _Take the flash drive and_ go. You’re a smart girl, Thalia. You’ll accept the truth sooner than you think you would.”

“But cuz…” My tears were now uncontrollable.

And just as what my cousin had feared, the sound of men yapping at one another echoed against the walls. Heavy splashing could be heard from a distance (it’s either they’re just too macho or they’re just simply obnoxious about the fact that their prey could hear them) along with a series of annoyed cursing and deranged laughter (as if they’re joking around or something).

“They’re here…” Aizza managed, fearful. She then grabbed my arm and forced me to look at her straight into the eye. “You have to go, _now.”_

“But—”

“No more buts, young lady!” she snapped, once again shoving the package into my chest for the last time. “Go! Now!”

I honestly didn’t know what to tell my cousin anymore.

Taking the package from her and shoving it deep into my pants’ right pocket, I got back on my feet, turned to my left, and ran off without even bothering to say goodbye. I felt so horrible that I could stab myself multiple times until I fall into the agonizing embrace of Death, but deep down, I knew that leaving her behind to die a horrible death was a sacrifice that I must accept no matter what it may cost me.

The moment I ran into the first tunnel at my right, I heard it. A gunshot that was loud enough to rattle anyone of any age. I let out a whimper as I hunched down on my knees, terrified out of my wits. I knew what the gunshot was for.

It was a warning.

I then heard my cousin screaming something, as if she’s trying her best to buy me some time before the bad guys could even realize whatever the hell’s happening. That she no longer has the flash drive.

I sat there in silence, my heart beating wildly and my limbs shaking as fear successfully took its toll on me. No, I should get back and help her… What was I even doing, hiding in the dark, when my cousin needs me? I must do something!

Another gunshot rang out.

I froze in place, those damn tears once again going to work.

Aizza’s now dead. And there’s nothing that I could do to bring her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADVANCED MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!
> 
> Aaaaand sorry for the dark chapter. (@_@)


	16. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... Advanced Happy New Year, I guess?

_**Breathe, Thalia… Breathe… That’s all right. That’s what life’s all about. We’re born, raised by our predecessors, give birth, raise our descendants, wither, and die. There’s no need for you to mourn. Your fallen comrades will all be given justice once you’ve accomplished your goal. Rather than crying for their fallen souls, thank them for the sacrifices that they’ve done just for you to proceed to the next round. Fret not, however, for they all will be justified once everything is over. They all will be justified once everything is over…** _

How long I sat there in the dark, crying my head off in silence, was unknown. My shoes, socks, and the lower part of my jeans were now soaked with sewer water. The putrid smell was now successfully invading my nostrils. A terrible combination of paranoia and depression was now crawling its way deep into my mind. What did my cousin do to deserve her terrible fate? What did my cousin say for them to shoot her? What did my cousin sacrifice just for her to be successful with the flash drive’s delivery?

And, most importantly…

Who am I to deserve all their selfless actions?

_**You are the heir to the clan’s throne. You were born to lead the entire clan to victory—to show the world that the Anguren Clan is something that they mustn’t ignore. You were born to alter everyone’s view on the entire clan.** _

No.

I was born just to bring misery and death.

Maxwell’s right. I was never the one to lead them.

I was just there to… To… To…

To create horrible decisions and lead them to their doom.

Michael, why’re you such a dumbass? You caused _our_ father to lose himself for a bit there and spawned _me,_ a good-for-nothing tomboy who fails a lot. Sure, I might have the habit of using those failures as steppingstones that would eventually lead to my success, but who cares about that, now? My cousin’s dead, and there’s nothing that I could do to bring her back to life.

My phone then eventually made the third beep, indicating the nasty fact of it now having only a battery life of five percent.

Shall I continue running, saving myself from doom as my subordinates stay behind and face Death in my place? Shall I continue barking away orders at them and stay nonchalant about their possible death? Shall I continue being the clan’s Grim Reaper and bring death not just to my enemies, but to my subordinates, as well?

“I’m sorry, Aizza,” I said, burying my face into my hands. “I’m so sorry I left you…”

“That person might still be here!” barked a man from somewhere nearby, which was then followed by a series of heavy splashing. “Look everywhere! Leave no tunnel unchecked!”

Will I let them find me? Will I let them take the flash drive and my life away from me? Will I…

Will I let Aizza’s death be useless?

The splashing only grew louder.

It’s quite obvious that these people, whoever they were, were now only a couple of blessed feet away from me. I now only got two options: to either stay and fight or just simply let them kill me, or to snap out of my negative thoughts and run to safety before it’s too late.

 _Run, you fool!_ the inner me screamed. _You have nothing with you other than your phone_ and _that goddamn flash drive! Do you have a death wish? Do you want that traitor to take the throne that’s supposed to be yours? No, right? Just run! Get away from here!_

Aizza’s last words echoed within my mind. _“Go! Now!”_

I heard you, cuz… I heard you…

Squeezing my eyes shut and holding my phone in front of me, I didn’t say another word and just simply took off. I didn’t have to worry about the splashes that I left behind. After all, the splashes that they made were much, much louder than mine. So loud that the volume was enough to alert anyone found a couple of tunnels away (well, only if they’re not having any hearing problems or whatsoever—no offense).

I was about to take a left the moment my phone died, causing me to run straight into a wall with a sickening _thud!_ and almost dropping my phone into the water.

It was a literal _Hello, darkness, my old friend!_ moment.

I leaned on the wall for a while to steady myself. Raising a hand up to my face and letting the tips of my fingers feel around the area found underneath my nose, I let out a soft groan the moment I felt something warm and wet flow straight out of my nostrils. Great. Just great. I just earned myself a nosebleed with that one hit. Nice job, Thalia. You’ve really done it.

“That hit sure looked painful,” said someone that obviously belonged to the opposite sex from somewhere at my right.

I felt the hairs at the back of my neck rise.

“W-who’s there?” I said, alarmed, my eyes wide as I wildly moved my head about, desperately trying to see whatever’s (or, in this case, whoever) out there in the dark. My hand was firmly pressed against my nose, as if that’s enough to ease the bleeding, but the wild movements that my head was doing said so otherwise.

“Whoa! Easy there, little miss!” said another from my left. “You’ll only worsen the bleeding!”

My back was now firmly pressed against the wall. “W-who are you? Show yourself!”

“Pipe it down, kid. They’ll hear you,” said another man from somewhere in front of me.

“Yeah!” said another, also coming from the same direction as the third speaker. “They’ve got guns with them, honey! You won’t stand a chance!”

Okay, wow, thanks for the tip, but…

_Who are these people and how can they see just fine even though the entire area’s pitch-black?!_

“W-why are you telling me that?” I inquired, both wary and anxious.

“Because it’s quite obvious that you’re not one of the bad guys,” the first speaker told me, his tone flat. “Besides… You’ve got something that we want.”

I felt myself swallow. “S-something that you want?”

“Um, bro? We’ve got no time for this,” the second speaker spoke up, as if he’s in a hurry or something. “They’re coming this way.”

I could feel the paranoia rush in. “W-who is?”

“Oh, are they?” said the third speaker menacingly, which came along with the sound of fingers cracking. “Let them come, then. You guys go ahead with the girl, I’ll stay here and create a diversion.”

“Hey, are you trying to show off or something?” It was the fourth speaker this time.

The third speaker let out an annoyed, animalistic growl. “Like you’re one to talk!”

“That’s enough!” the first speaker said with utmost authority in his voice. “Miss, you’re coming with us.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

Before my poor brain could even process whatever’s going on, I felt someone’s enormous hand grab me by the waist, causing me to let out a helpless yelp at the sudden contact. The dude then hoisted me up and away from the disgusting sewer water (I was honestly thankful for that) before holding me under his arm like I was some kind of pillow (not cool, buddy!). He and his two other buddies then took off (with me carried around like Pillow-chan, in case you’re forgetting), leaving the fourth one behind to face whoever those bastards were.

“H-hold on!” I squeaked, flailing my appendages. “Wait, stop!”

“Sorry, miss!” the fourth speaker replied. “We’re kinda busy at the moment! Try again later, okay?”

“What is this, a phone call?!” I snapped, helplessly kicking at the air and waving my arms about. “Put me down! Put me down, _now!”_

A series of gunshots then echoed from somewhere behind us.

“Forget it!” I yelped. “Get me out of here, _now!”_

“Can’t you see that we’re already doing that?!” said the first speaker, the same dude who decided to turn me into the first-ever living Pillow-chan. “And stop wriggling! Do you want me to drop you?”

 _Of course I don’t want you to drop me!_ I wanted to yell. _My lower half’s already smelly enough, thank you very much!_

“Dee, how much longer till the next manhole?” the same dude asked.

“Just ten minutes away if we keep this pace!” the second speaker replied.

Dee? Was that his buddy’s name? Oh, that’s just cute!

Wait…

Dee?

“D”?

Okay, I guess that the TMNT vibes were now hitting me, hard…

But what if they’re the real thing? What if… What if it wasn’t a vibe at all?

Unfortunately, the inner me wasn’t buying any of it. _Snap out of it! These guys are nothing but a bunch of creepy strangers that you just met within the dark and stinky sewers! You wanna believe that they’re the so-called “Heroes in a Half-Shell” that you’ve been crushing on ever since you’re five? Uh, hel-lo? You’re already an adult, for goodness’ sake! Forget it! Face reality! Hurry up and think of an alibi to get away before it’s too late!_

Whoa, hey, ouch! Why do you always have to be so personal with this kind of stuff, huh, Inner Me?

“Almost there!” the “Dee”/“D” person cried out. “Hang on, little miss!”

I was now close to the verge of snapping. “I’m not a little kid!”

“Sure, you are!” the fourth speaker said playfully, as if this was all nothing but a mere game for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” I angrily asked, my eyes narrowed as I desperately tried to see through the darkness. “Look, if only I could—”

“We’re here!” the “Dee”/“D” person announced. “Leonardo, give her a boost!”

I froze.

Did he just say “Leonardo”?

What the—

“Heave-ho!” said the person who’s carrying me as he swung me upwards.

I let out a shocked cry the moment I felt his grip loosen. Flailing, I (thankfully) managed to grab a hold on a pair of metal bars despite the bodily commotion present.

With my eyes wide open and my heart beating frantically, I whipped my head downwards and screamed. “You jerk!”

“You’re welcome!” the “Leonardo” person replied mockingly (the nerve!). “Now, hurry up and climb! We’ll cover you!”

With that, he and his buddies were gone.

I was now alone. In the dark. Left with nothing but my dead phone in one hand and an ice-cold metal bar in the other, along with the cursed flash drive that was found hidden deep inside my pocket. I left my helpless cousin behind to die and was rescued by four unknown men (who were giving off a pretty strong TMNT vibe), who then left me behind to “cover” my escape.

Guess that I’ve no other choice but to go up.

Sorry, Aizza…


	17. 15

It took me a while to realize that I’ve just emerged from a manhole found within the heart of Times Square (I’m getting the _Enchanted_ vibes, here).

The area was so quiet. So empty (well, save for a couple of hookers found here and there). The silent atmosphere was so alien that it was enough to make an extrovert go nuts and an introvert super happy. It also made the act of slipping out of the manhole quite easy to do without causing anyone to raise their eyebrows, thanks to the barren atmosphere.

With my phone dead, contacting my nephews was just simply impossible. Sure, I could get back home through the humble act of walking, but I only knew very little about the city. Worse—with my current condition, I doubt the idea of anyone believing me that I live inside a pretty snazzy apartment.

But I could always say that I was out drinking with some friends and ended up having a drunken adventure into the sewers, right?

A-a-a-a-a-and would, for sure, end up in jail because of the nasty crime of “underaged drinking”.

Just fu—er—dang it. Just dang it.

If only I had a power bank with me…

Oh, wait! The payphone’s always available to be used by anyone, right?

Well, not in my case. After all, all I got was a fifty-dollar bill. Nothing more, nothing less. Besides, you need coins to use one, not bills.

 _How about borrowing a prostitute’s phone?_ the inner me suggested.

Excuse me, what?

Okay, I know that it’s probably one of the safest options for the moment, but who in their right mind would approach someone who’s obviously a hooker just to borrow their phone?

Definitely not me.

But what other choice do I have?

Okay, fine. I got none. A big yipee for me.

Glumly, I pulled the hood over my head and approached a small group of five women. I obviously reeked of the sewers and looked like I’ve been wandering the streets for a month, but I could honestly care less. All I wanted now was to get back home and sleep.

Wait, sleep? No, I need nothing of the sort.

All I needed right now was the information stored within the flash drive.

Nothing more, nothing less.

“Um, excuse me,” I managed, suddenly feeling small and helpless. “C-can I please borrow your phone for a bit?”

One of them took one quick look at me and scoffed. “And let you run away with it? Sorry, kid. But that tactic of yours is _so_ last season!”

It’s quite offending, yes, but I didn’t let that get in my way. “Please, just a five-minute phone call.”

The second one only shooed me away.

My patience was now snapping. “I’ll pay you.”

The one who spoke first sassily placed a hand on her waist. “Oh? How much are you gonna pay me for that ‘five-minute phone call’ of yours, then?”

Seriously, woman?

“Fifty bucks,” I told her. “I’ll pay you fifty bucks. How does that sound?”

She huffed. “You got the money?”

I pulled out the bill from my pocket and waved it in her face.

“Fine,” she finally said, defeated. Swiping the money away from my hand, she hesitantly gave me her phone in exchange as her friends watched on. “Just five minutes, all right?”

Without saying another word, I turned my back on them and hurriedly dialed Jackson’s number.

“You better not run away, kiddie!” one of them said, her voice unnaturally high-pitched and quite painful to listen to. “We saw your face!”

Paranoid much, lady?

It only took me three rings before Jackson finally answered the call. _**“Hello?”**_

“Times Square. Hurry up,” I told him, suddenly feeling anxious. I wasn’t sure why, but I suddenly got the nasty feeling that someone’s (not the hooker ladies) out there, watching my every move, just like in the sewers.

Jackson sounded both shocked and relieved. _**“Sakura?”**_ He then let out a chuckle. _**“Sakura, is that you?”**_

“Yes, it’s me,” I replied hastily, as if afraid that someone might hear. “You got the message. I’m in Times Square. I reek of the sewers. I look like shit. My phone’s dead. And I have the package.”

Jackson instantly went from the happy nephew to the dead-serious nephew. _**“We’ll be there in ten minutes.”**_

“Perfect.” I then ended the call, returned the phone to the prostitute and walked away as if nothing had ever happened.

Countless thoughts were now swimming in my mind. Who was the original informant? Why did they die so soon? How did they die? How did they realize that their life was in danger? Who betrayed them? Who was, originally, given the task of meeting up with me and the boys just for them to hand over the information that they’ve managed to gather? Aizza also did say something about receiving the flash drive via mail. Was that the reason for them to successfully track her down and… And…

I stopped dead in my tracks the moment I felt those tears fall. My cousin’s dead. There’s no mistaking it. I’ve heard the gunshots. There’s no way she could’ve survived those. The blood loss, too.

I balled my hands into fists as I desperately tried to keep my anger to myself. Why did she join the organization? Who persuaded her to become One Hundred-and-Fourteen? Who did those horrible things to her? Who pulled the trigger on her? Who killed her? Why did the original informant choose her, of all people, to personally deliver the parcel to me?

“Kura?” Maxwell’s voice knocked me out of my train of thought.

Slowly, I turned my head to my left, only to meet Maxwell’s worried gaze. Jackson was indeed a man of his word. Only nine-and-a-half minutes have passed and they’re already here to pick me up.

“Took you long enough,” I growled, my voice deep and unmoving. I then yanked the backseat door open, climbed in, and pulled the door shut. “Let’s go.”

Jackson took a sniff and cringed. “Ugh. You _do_ smell like the sewers.”

I only glared at him. “I already gave you the order, didn’t I?”

Jackson swallowed. “Y-yes, you did.”

“Step on the gas, then,” I said grimly. “We have work to do.”


	18. 16

A hundred and twenty hours. I haven’t slept for a hundred and twenty hours.

In other words, I’ve skipped sleep for five days straight.

Not that I really cared, though. All that I ever needed for the moment were coffee, milk, water, and food to sustain my health. I’ve also skipped the sanitary act of showering for four straight days. All I ever cared about for the moment was to know and study all the information stored within the flash drive.

The worst part was that _most_ of the files found within the flash drive where encrypted into strange codes of numbers and text that absolutely made no sense, and that _all_ of them were “protected” by a strong Trojan virus. I can’t risk having them all accidentally deleted by my laptop’s malware cleaner (the kind that deletes the infected file without even bothering to ask you if it’s okay to do so or not), so I had no other choice but to use Maxwell’s old gaming computer (I even went as far as forcing the boys to install it permanently inside my room) for safety measure. But nope. It still didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, the encryption remained intact. It was pointless.

It was hopeless.

I was now starting to lose my mind.

Just a little bit more and, for sure, I’ll eventually end up ripping my hair out.

With my eyelids heavy and my head pounding, I eventually decided to settle with the idea of taking a break. Pulling my laptop out from its case and wrapping myself up with the duvet as if I was some kind of spring roll, I turned the device on and stared flatly at the loading screen as I desperately tried to ease my mind. What will I do to decrypt it? How can I get rid of the virus? Will I hire someone else to do the decrypting for me? Do I still have to do some Deep Web-searching just to learn how to decrypt a virus-infected file?

Sighing, I gave the mouse a light tap after I finally chose the act of movie-watching. The answers can wait, I was a hundred-percent sure. For now, all I needed was to loosen up.

∞

I was already at the scene where Michelangelo accidentally set Vern’s new car on fire when Jackson decided to waltz in without knocking.

“Wanna watch countless movies and countless series?” Jackson began with the _Ghost Busters_ theme tune, obviously desperate to lighten up the atmosphere. “What are you gonna do? Subscribe to Netflix!”

Quite unfortunately for his part, I wasn’t at all impressed. “Go away, Jackson.”

He didn’t give up, though. “What’s the matter, spring roll? You mad?” My nephew then approached me and pressed his nose against my head, obviously doing so just to take a quick sniff of my hair. “Ugh, god! Thalia, since when did you last showered?”

“Four days ago,” I replied lifelessly, my eyes still glued to the screen.

“Four days?!” Jackson cried out. He then grabbed me by the chin and pulled my face up to his direction, mortified. “And how many days has it been since you last slept?”

My eyes were now having trouble focusing on his face. “Five.”

My nephew looked like he just stepped on a land mine. “Five?! Okay, that’s it!” He then released my face and slammed my laptop shut, shocking me despite my extremely tired condition. “Go to sleep now, young lady!”

“Hey!” I managed, weakly glaring up at him. “I’m not done with the movie, yet!”

“So what? You’ve already seen it many times before!” Jackson was now fuming. Taking my laptop away and pulling my glasses off my face, he pushed me further into the mattress with his foot. “Get some sleep!”

“It’s ten in the morning!” I snapped while in the middle of retaliating. “Give it back! My laptop!”

“No!” he barked. “Not unless you get some sleep!”

“Sleeping is only for the weak!” I hollered.

Jackson didn’t give up. “You look worse than a zombie!”

“Game addict!”

“Reptile-lover!”

“What’s going on, here?” Maxwell asked as he stomped in, annoyed. “What are you guys doing?”

“Max! The sleeping pills! Now!” Jackson ordered, still pushing me down with his foot as he held my laptop up high with both hands.

Maxwell ran out of the room without saying another word.

“Those damn pills ain’t working on me!” I roared, now thrashing myself about in my bed.

“Oh, yeah?” Jackson asked, grunting.

“Yeah!”

Maxwell came back a minute later, carrying a glass jar.

“We only got five left, bro,” he reported. “And it looks like they’ve ex—”

“Let her take them all!” Jackson growled.

Okay, what?

_What?!_

Quite unfortunately for my part, Maxwell was the type of man who asks no questions once the order was given to him. Without saying another word, he approached me just as Jackson forced my mouth open with both hands (right after he placed my laptop on the desk, of course), hastily moved the jar towards the said bodily opening and tilted it, letting the pills fall straight into my throat (and I’m telling you—that almost choked me!). I was about to cough them all out when Jackson saw the coffee cup on my desk (that was half-filled with lukewarm coffee), snatching it right up and pouring the liquid right into my helpless mouth before I could even do anything.

I didn’t want to swallow it, but I didn’t want to drown, either, leaving me no other choice but to go on with the first pick. Squeezing my eyes shut, I gulped it all down and coughed.

“Attaboy!” Jackson said, triumphant.

“You…” I managed, wheezing. “You could’ve killed me, dammit!”

“Right, right.” Much to my delight, Jackson finally decided to remove his foot from my chest, allowing me to sit and cough my head off. “You okay?”

I only coughed harder.

Maxwell let out a sigh. “She’s obviously not.”

“Oh, of course!” Jackson said while clapping his hands like an excited little kid, the happy tone of his voice obviously filled with mockery. “I mean, just look at those dark circles under those lifeless eyes! And those oily, smelly locks, too! She’s obviously _not_ okay!”

That’s it. Punching Jackson in the face and kicking him in the balls were now definitely the biggest—no, scratch that, make that the top tier—choices in my bucket list.

Maxwell gave me a look, an eyebrow raised. “How long have you been awake?”

I gripped at the sheets and gasped for air, obviously forcing myself to calm down from the sudden coughing fit. “Five days.”

He looked like he just stubbed his toe. “What?”

“Five days, little brother,” Jackson repeated for me. “Five _fucking_ days. Can you imagine that? Our little aunt? Missing sleep for that long?”

“I’m not _that_ little, hey!” I groaned and covered my face with my hands, feeling both annoyed and embarrassed at the way he’s treating me.

Jackson only ignored me. “Oh, and she hates water now, too! I mean, you can smell it, too, right, Maxie?”

“Uh, yeah.” Maxwell looked like he’s more than ready to bolt out of the room at any moment.

I grabbed a pillow and hurled it towards Jackson’s face. “Get out!”

“Awww. You don’t wanna hear a bedtime story?” my oldest nephew teased, catching the pillow just in time before the material could even touch him, much to my dismay. “Shame.”

Maxwell only stared at him in disbelief, his eyes wide.

“Out, I said!” I screamed. Grabbing the duvet, dropping flat on the mattress and pulling the said material over my head, I curled up into a ball and squeezed my eyes shut. Seriously, why does he like to tease me so much? It’s not like he’ll make a profit out of it or something.

“Oh, you wanna be a baozi, now?” Jackson said, chortling. “Maxwell, get the chicken!”

I screamed.

Big mistake. That only made my headache worse.

“A-a-a-a-and a spicy one, too!” Jackson’s chortling only became louder. “Where’s the milk?”

“Fine!” I finally said in defeat, exasperated. “I’ll sleep, now! Happy?”

“That’s the spirit!” Jackson praised, slapping me in the thighs a moment later. “I’ll be taking your laptop for assurance! The PC, too.”

I snapped my eyes open. He’ll be taking my what?

As if on cue, I heard the PC’s wires thudding on the flat surface of my desk. If my head wasn’t at all painful, I would’ve probably jumped out of bed and screamed my head off at their faces right now.

“Just stay put and relax,” Jackson added. “It’s not the end of the world—well, not yet, anyway.”

 _Wow. That’s one way to settle the mood._ I wanted to tell him, to show him that he’s not the only sarcastic dude around here, but decided to stay silent. Besides, I was really, really, _really_ tired. I was a hundred-percent positive that, if I close my eyes for a minute straight, I would eventually drown within the sea of dreams (even though I didn’t want to) for more than twenty-four hours (Jackson obviously wanted that to happen—hence the five sleeping pills).

I then heard the door swing shut for probably around three or more minutes later.

I was left with no other choice but to follow Jackson’s words. To “stay put” and “relax”. Well, with my laptop and desktop computer gone, decrypting the files would obviously be a huge impossibility. Besides, the sleeping pills were now successfully starting to take their effect on my system (huh, weird, I thought that these things normally take an hour of waiting before the individual could experience the desired outcome), so what else can I do other than sleeping?

Yawning (and wincing at the nasty headache), I felt my eyelids droop. My ragged breathing eventually became calmer as the seconds went by.

Without realizing it, I eventually drifted off to a deep sleep.

I was freaking out the moment I woke up.

I mean, yeah, sure, the headache and sleepiness were now gone, but the only thing that bothered me was the fact that it was now pitch-black outside.

How long was I asleep?

Snatching my phone up from the side table to check the time, I glared at the screen for a couple of minutes before dropping my head hard against the pillow with a huff. Great. It’s already 11:24 PM. And if I could remember correctly, I fell asleep at around ten-something AM. Meaning, I just slept for fourteen-something hours straight.

Imagine the time I’ve lost!

Groaning, I rolled out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom to take a bath. Okay, I granted Jackson’s wish. I just took a fourteen-hour trip to Dreamland. Plus, I’m going to Soap-and-Bubble Land, too. Was I missing anything, still?

No?

Okay, nice.

I was already five minutes in the bath and was just about to rub some shampoo over my head when I heard Jackson laughing outside.

With a groan, I lightly hit my head on the wall. “What is it, now?”

“Nothing!” Jackson said, still recovering from his laughing fit. “Just keep up with the calming act of bathing! Oh, I’ll leave your dinner here, too.”

My stomach then let out an angry growl.

Ah, right. I skipped both lunch _and_ dinner, thanks to my sudden, fourteen- something-hour trip to Dreamland.

I said nothing as I went on with my soapy business. The peace continued for another five minutes until I finally decided to step out. After drying my hair with the extra towel that I decided to bring with me inside the bathroom, I fell flat on my bed and stared at the ceiling for a straight ten minutes in silence, my trance only breaking the moment the enticing scent of burgers entered my nose.

My stomach growled—again.

I quickly sat up, now unable to contain my hunger any further. Jackson _did_ say something about leaving my dinner here in my room. I honestly didn’t believe him at first (with him being quite the Class A prankster and all), but after seeing the Burger King doggy bags found on my desk, I instantly decided to (temporarily) forget about his mischievous side right after my stomach let out a growl of joy (or was it impatience? I wasn’t sure).

Like a merciless predator that just found the perfect opportunity to ambush its prey, I quickly approached my desk, ripped the biggest doggy bag open, and pulled out the lukewarm, king-sized burger that instantly made my mouth water the moment its scent entered my nostrils. I was clearly in food heaven, with the first bite only making the heavenly feeling worse.

I already devoured three-fourths of my burger when I realized that there were still two more doggy bags left unopened.

Right after swallowing the final bite, I decided to move on to Doggy Bag #2.

It contained another (but smaller) lukewarm burger that came with a medium-sized team of French fries. I was still pretty much hungry, so devouring Burger #2 along with the fries seemed to be a pretty cool idea.

I was already down with the very last French fry when I finally decided to open the last bag. Meh, nothing special. Just one tall cup of Coke. But hey, I can never be too picky with my drink, now, can I?

I just poked the straw into the lid’s tiny opening when my phone let out a series of weird, continuous beeps. Alarmed, I snatched my phone right up and stared at the screen. It was completely normal. None of the files and apps were deleted or replaced. Glitches were nowhere to be found. The alarm was off, too.

So, why was it beeping continuously?

Could it be—

 _ **“Hello?”**_ came out a male’s voice on full volume from my phone’s speaker. _**“Can you hear me? Hello?”**_

I blinked, unsure of what to do or say. “Um…?”

 _ **“Hey!”**_ the speaker said cheerfully, as if we’ve met before or something. _**“How’s the decryption going?”**_

I froze. How in the world did this guy know about the decryption?!

“Who are you?” I asked, threatened.

 _ **“Uh, can’t you recognize me through the sound waves that my voice’s giving off?”**_ the speaker asked me, as if my brain power was something quite similar to the legendary Albert Einstein’s own.

“What?” I asked, my brows furrowed. I’ve never been so confused before in my life.

 _ **“Oh, never mind!”**_ he said, sighing. _**“Anyway, let me repeat my question. Are you—”**_

“Wait, you’re the ‘D’ guy, aren’t you?” I asked, now getting his point with the sound waves. “From the sewers?”

 _ **“That’s pretty accurate,”**_ he said, his voice dripping with amazement. _**“Yeah, I’m the guy. Anyways, are you—”**_

“Hold on,” I said, stopping him. Picking my phone up, I cautiously peeked at the door just to make sure that my nephews weren’t at all eavesdropping (like they always do) and hurried into the closet. “Okay, you can talk, now.”

_**“Oh—”** _

“But first!” I began, cutting the dude off again. “How did you know about the decryption? Are you spying on me?”

 _ **“Isn’t it obvious?”**_ “Dee”/“D” said, laughing. _**“Besides, your PC’s firewall isn’t that strong, so… Um, so, yeah.”**_

Oh. How candid. That’s nice.

NOT!

I mean, dude, that’s just so creepy and rude!

I was suddenly hit with the arrow of disappointment. “I see… I’ll keep that in mind.”

_**“So? How’s it going?”** _

“It’s impossible,” I replied, sighing. “The virus… It’s just… It’s just too strong for me to get rid of. Believe me, I tried. I already lost count as to many times I’ve rebooted my computer just to get rid of the infection.”

 _ **“I can take care of that,”**_ “Dee”/“D” said with a hint of zeal in his voice.

I raised a brow. “You can?”

_**“Yeah!”** _

“Even if it’s a Trojan?”

He let out a mad scientist-like laugh (to be honest? That scared me). _**“Ha! Easy-peasy!”**_

I couldn’t believe my ears. Did this guy just seriously say that he can do it? That he can get rid of the virus and decrypt everything without having any kind of trouble?

 _Who in the world is this genius?!_ the inner me screamed in excitement.

I shook my head and walked around my closet’s interior, now feeling a little nervous. “Wait… Can you really do that?”

 _ **“Of course, I can!”**_ “Dee”/“D” said, obviously persistent.

“Whoa, dude, chill!” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, you can decrypt the files. You can get rid of the virus. I get it. But the question is… How will you do it? I mean… The flash drive’s here with me, so how can you—”

 _ **“We’ll meet up.”**_ It was the “Leonardo” dude this time. _**“Simple, isn’t it?”**_

I blinked. “Simple?”

 _ **“Meet us at the rooftop in ten minutes,”**_ he said before cutting the line. _**“Don’t be late.”**_


	19. 17

“Where are you going?” Jackson asked me the moment I crept into the living room.

I instantly lost my footing, causing me to fall flat on my face a moment after with a shocked scream (it all happened so fast that my reflexes failed to kick in—ugh, guess that all of those reaction time tests that I’ve had during my high school days are pretty much useless).

“Shit!” Maxwell yelled in panic as he came running towards me. “Thalia, are you okay?!”

“I’m obviously not, stupid…” I managed while peeling my face off the floor.

“Oof, that’s gotta hurt,” Jackson said (I could definitely see him cringing with that pained tone of his). “But hey, at least your nose’s the real deal.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” I grumbled, rubbing my aching nose and frowning the moment I realized that I was now suffering a nosebleed. “Great. Can I have some tissue, please?”

Maxwell quickly handed me a box a couple of moments later.

I was about to thrust tiny wads of tissue paper into my nostrils when Jackson approached me without saying anything, lifted me up from the floor like I was some kind of girl who accidentally twisted her ankle because of her flashy five-inch heels, and carried me all the way to the couch before finally deciding to put me down.

“Here, let me see that,” Jackson offered as he placed his hands on the sides of my face and moved it upwards just to get a better view of my nostrils, his expression grim. He then pulled out two fresh pieces of tissue paper, rolled them into neat individual scrolls, folded them in half, and carefully inserted them into my bloody nares. “Geez, Lia. Why so tense? It’s not like we’re gonna eat you or anything.”

 _I wouldn’t be so tense if it weren’t for you, dummy!_ I wanted to tell him with a sneer, but for the sake of peace (you know what I’m talking about), I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“Besides, shouldn’t you be in your room, sleeping?” Maxwell asked, crossing his arms. “Look, I know that Jackson—” he glared at his older brother when he said it, “—gave you a lot of stuff to munch on, but that doesn’t mean that you can go ahead and take your stuff back!”

I rolled my eyes. “Dude, do I look like the type?”

The brothers didn’t even bother to hesitate. “Yeah!”

“What the—hey!” I protested, frowning. “That’s not cool!”

“Oh, there’s no use denying it, Auntie,” Maxwell uttered, his eyes narrowed. “We know you.”

“Wha— _ugh!_ Can’t a baby-faced twenty-two-year-old woman such as myself get some fresh air?” I snapped, my eye twitching. _“Alone?”_

“Really?” Jackson raised a brow. “In those pizza-themed pj’s of yours?”

I almost whacked him in the face.

“So what?” I asked him, my eyes as wide as saucers, my frustration now evident. “Leonardo” did say something about meeting them at the rooftop in ten minutes… And I only got four minutes left. My time’s now running out.

Whoa, hold on one second—at which rooftop, exactly?

Uh-oh.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Jackson announced, laughing. “The sassiness disappeared! I’ll take that as a win!”

“I gotta go!” I cried out, leaping away from the couch like an athletic feline as I hastily made my way towards the door. My nephews tried to reach out for me, to grab me by whatever appendage they could take a hold on and pull me back, but I was just too quick (and short, heh, long-live the five-footers!) for them to tame.

Without wasting another second, I yanked the door open and stormed out, not forgetting to slam it on the men’s faces just before they could even reach me (I just hope that we didn’t disturb the neighbors’ peaceful z’s with all of that ruckus).

∞

I was panting my head off the moment I reached the rooftop.

Sure, there’s the elevator and all, but all of that running costed me so much oxygen that I had no other choice but to double my breathing power just to satisfy my poor lungs. The beating of my heart’s also quite wild, thanks to the sudden adrenaline rush.

Without saying another word, I approached the nearest table and sat down, obviously hoping to calm my nerves.

The only problem was that I _can’t._

I mean, was I even at the right place? Was this the “rooftop” that this “Leonardo” guy told me about? Was I so late that they lost their patience and left? Were they even telling the truth? What if they’re one of the bad guys? What if their main goal is to kill me and avenge dead man Varone?

That only made my anxiety worse.

“You sure took your time.”

My heart leaped up into my throat.

Before I could even react, something that felt like burlap was roughly shoved on my head and down to my neck, successfully blocking my line of sight. As a natural reaction, I, of course, panicked. I got up from my seat and blindly moved my hands around, desperate to hold onto something. Anything.

“Hey, relax!” It was “Dee”/“D”. It seemed like he’s standing somewhere at my left. “It’s just us.”

“D?” I called out, quickly turning to my left. “D, is that you?”

“You know each other?” said someone from behind me, his voice dripping with disbelief. I instantly recognized him as the fourth speaker from the sewers. “Dude, no fair!”

I was still blindly moving my hands around as I walked. “D?”

“Miss, you have to relax,” said someone (whom I instantly recognized as the “Leonardo” dude) from my right. “Please, do sit.”

I carefully moved my head to the right. “Leonardo?”

“Wha—she knows _you,_ too?!” the fourth speaker asked in shock.

“Leonardo,” I said, now completely still. “Can you please tell me what’s going on, here?”

“Cocky,” said another from the same direction as “Leonardo” did (who’s obviously the third speaker from the sewers). “I like her.”

“Look, miss, you have to sit down, first, okay?” “Leonardo” told me. I could hear the sound of the chair scraping against the brick flooring from behind, as if they’re pushing the said furniture towards me or something (I must’ve walked a bit too far). “Relax. Take a deep breath and enjoy the city’s peaceful ambience. The chilly breeze, too.”

“Oh, I’d love to!” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Relax? Nah, can’t do that with this cloth-thingamajig blocking my line of sight. Take a deep breath? Nah, can’t do that, either. The cloth’s making it hard for me to breathe, you see. Enjoy the city’s peaceful ambience? Nope. Can’t do that if I can’t see anything. The chilly breeze? Well—can’t you see that I’m just in my fucking pj’s, right now?!”

The fourth speaker let out a hearty laugh. “Savage!”

“Shut it, Mikey!” “Leonardo” said with a huff, obviously taken aback by my sudden aggressive attitude.

Wait a minute—Mikey?!

Oh my gosh. Could they be…?

No, no, no, let’s not jump to conclusions, first. Besides, that name could only be an alias, right?

Right?

“What the hell’s this thing for, anyway?” I inquired, my heartbeat getting quicker and quicker by the second, as I moved my hands up to the burlap-like material covering my entire head to remove it. “Look, I don’t know what you people are up to, but—”

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” the third speaker said, firmly. I suddenly felt a pair of cool (to the touch) gargantuan hands (well, I assumed that they were hands) on my forearms, firmly holding them in place, as if me taking the burlap-thingamajig off my head in their presence wasn’t a part of their plan.

“What?” I was now confused. And scared. Really scared.

“Let’s get down to business,” “Leonardo” began, clearing his throat. “My brother had already told you that he can do the decrypting job for you, right?”

Brother?

They’re brothers?!

What the—

I swallowed. “R-right.”

“Very good,” “Leonardo” said with a hum, as if he’s satisfied with my (stammering) answer and/or anxious reaction. “You know what that means, then?”

The inner me was screaming in panic.

“Y-you want me to give you the flash drive,” I cautiously stammered.

“Why so nervous?” “Mikey” asked with a light-hearted chuckle. “Is Raph’s negativity giving you the chills?”

What?

Wha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-at?!

“Raph” then began to growl. “Mikey, I swear to god, that if you’ll continue teasing me, I’ll—”

I let out a startled cry as I felt his hold on my forearms tighten (it hurt me so much that I instantly thought of them breaking if he’s not gonna let go). “Dude, ow!” I managed, now struggling to break free from his iron grip. “Let go!”

“S-sorry,” the “Raph” dude said, sounding quite startled (and a tad regretful) himself. He then finally released me, thus allowing me to freely move my arms about once more.

“Leonardo” once again spoke up. “Yes, we want you to give us the flash drive,” he uttered, his speaking dramatically slowed down, as if he’s afraid that I’ll miss the most important detail of his speech (I could definitely imagine him nodding his head with a smirk—even though I still didn’t know what he and his “brothers” looked like). “Nothing more, nothing less.”

I shakily let out a breath and raised a brow. “How can I trust you?”

“We’ll give you our word,” “Dee”/“D” said with utmost finality. “You don’t have to worry about anything else. Let me do the decryption for you, please. You can trust me and my brothers on this.”

My mind was racing.

Sure, the offer that “Dee”/“D” gave me was, indeed, quite tempting, but there’s no way that I’ll just give the flash drive away without knowing a thing or two about their true motives. Even if they’re going to give me “their word”. I need to think of an excuse—fast.

“Nothing ever comes free, you know,” I said, wary with my choice of words.

“Oh?” “Leonardo” sounded like he just discovered someone’s biggest secret. “State your price, then.”

Oof. Okay, Thalia. You got this. What do you want in exchange?

“Try to remember,” I told him, desperate to keep my cool. “The other night when I was with this woman in the sewers… She told me to go away before ‘they’ could even see me. Before ‘they’ could even realize whatever’s going on. That the flash drive’s no longer with her, but with me. When I was far enough, I heard gunshots. Gunshots that only urged me to continue running until I kind of ran into you guys. I want you to go down there and investigate for me. And, if possible, retrieve that woman’s corpse for the authorities to see. If you can do that, then the flash drive is yours to keep.”

“Leonardo” chuckled. “Is that all?”

I suddenly felt butterflies in my stomach. “W-what do you mean?”

“North Shore University Hospital,” he replied, still chuckling. “You’ll see.”

“I’ll see?” I asked, once again anxious. “I’ll see what?”

No reply.

The silence remained for a good two minutes before I finally decided to pull the burlap-like material off my head. The chilly, autumnal breeze instantly hit my face right after my head was freed from the material’s hold. My eyes took a while to readjust themselves to the sight, and when they did, I finally saw the beautiful skyline that New York’s best known for.

And the four strange dudes were now nowhere to be seen.

Huh. Odd.

And creepy.

And they’re _totally_ giving off a strong TMNT vibe!

Just who the heck were those guys?

As if on cue, Jackson and Maxwell came bursting through the doors while panting their heads off, as if they were doing every single thing they can just to break free from the elevator for a good ten or more minutes.

“Fuck it! The elevator’s gone haywire!” Jackson cried, growling. “Max, contact the management team. Now.”

“You guys looked like you just got out of Gordon Ramsay’s kitchen,” I pointed out with a sneer (not forgetting to toss the burlap-thingamajig aside when I got the chance, of course—I don’t want to give them any ideas).

“Easy for you to say!” Maxwell groaned while wiping the sweat off his face. “Man, it sure is hot in there.”

I chortled, gleefully clapping my hands together. “Take _that,_ Gordon Ramsay-wannabe!”

“Ah, shut up!”

“All right! That’s enough, you two,” Jackson chimed in, widening his eyes at us. “Thalia, you already got that so-called ‘alone time’ of yours?”

I nodded. “Uh, yeah… Yeah, I have.”

“Okay, then! Cool!” Jackson said, his lips pressed together into a thin line and spreading out his arms. “I guess that you’re now calm enough to get back to your dream world, yes?”

I can’t just possibly say no, now, can I? “Yeah.”

Maxwell placed a hand on my shoulder as he took a good look at my face. “You sure? You’re kinda pale…”

“I’m fine!” I pressed, brushing him off and walking to the elevator. “I just… I need some sleep, okay? Chill. I… I just got a lot of things in my mind right now, so… Just leave me alone.”

It’s quite obvious that none of my nephews were buying my excuse. Well, even if they did, they decided not to say anything about it as they followed me back into our apartment and finally called it a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I (obviously) got the idea from the scene where April was "kidnapped" by the Turtles and taken into their lair.


	20. 18

It was the forever bustling day of Wednesday and was already six AM in the morning.

Like always, things were pretty much normal to begin with. The adults go to work and the kids go to school. The cabs were speeding along the streets with their passengers found strapped within their seats and the trains were running around on their respective tracks with a bunch of random people onboard.

However, there were also some people who didn’t really care about the time and would rather eat a hearty breakfast with their families and/or friends.

People like my nephews and me.

With the news on, the three of us sat on our respective seats as we ate breakfast in peace and quiet.

Well, that was until I asked them about the hospital that “Leonardo” told me about last night.

“North Shore University Hospital?” Jackson asked me over his bowl of Cap’n Crunch. “Yeah, I know the place.” He then paused, gave me a look, and raised a brow. “Why?”

“I just remembered One Hundred-and-Fourteen’s advice,” I lied while calmly pouring myself a cup of milk for my own cereal bowl. “Nothing much.”

“Oh, okay. So, you’re saying that you just remembered her ‘advice’ now, as in, right now, after a straight six days… Is that it?” Jackson asked me, his eyes carefully studying my every move and his voice dripping with so much suspicion.

I could feel the tension rising, but still decided to keep my cool. “Yeah.”

Jackson raised his spoon and pointed it at me. “Thalia, honey… Are you sure that it’s really ‘nothing’?” He then placed the said utensil back in his bowl and spread out his arms to express his point. “Because, hey! This is a hospital we’re talking about. A motherfucking hospital, for fuck’s sake!”

“Jax, it’s still too early for the colorful language,” I calmly reminded him while raising a spoonful of Cheerios to my mouth. “Stop it.”

“Don’t you dare change the topic, young lady!” my oldest nephew said with a sneer. “Look, I know that we got those weird shots from Seventy-One that kinda boosted our immunity against the virus, but that clearly isn’t enough! What if you get sick? What if they detect something in your system? That’s—that’s just crazy, Auntie! You know what I’m saying?”

“He’s right,” Maxwell said, raising his brows in agreement while chewing his own spoonful of Cap’n Crunch. “‘Cause if it really is ‘nothing’, then there really isn’t a need for you to go out of your way just to go to this hospital. Stay at home and stay safe, that’s what I’m saying.”

I sighed, dropped the spoon into my bowl and scratched my forehead. “Fine. You guys wanna know the truth? Okay, then. It’s something about the decryption.” The men instantly gave me a look that obviously screamed _What do you mean about that?_ , but sucks for them, since I decided to keep on talking, casually reminding them who’s the _real_ boss in this trio. “No matter how much I try, the files remain encrypted. The Trojan virus is so strong that it’s not just affecting the flash drive, but the computer as well. One Hundred-and-Fourteen told me something about having a friend in that hospital who could do the decoding job for me. But for a price, of course.”

“And that price is?” Jackson inquired, narrowing his eyes.

Good. They’ve taken the bait.

“That’s what I would like to find out,” I replied while lifting my cup of milk to my lips to take a sip. “You guys coming or what?”

My nephews looked at each other for a while before looking back at me, their faces grim.

“Okay,” Jackson said, nodding. “Just make it quick.”

The three of us decided to split up along the way in hopes of keeping a low profile, obviously both cautious and desperate enough to stay hidden from the enemy’s eyes.

Maxwell was the one who sorted himself out of the group, first.

We dropped him off to a café that’s found a good couple of blocks away from the hospital. To avoid suspicion, Jackson immediately stepped on the gas right after Maxwell slammed the door shut and entered the building.

Obviously enough, I was the one who got off, next.

Jackson was kind enough to drop me off by the hospital’s main entrance before driving off to his desired location.

As expected, the entire building was bustling with life. Hospital staff of all races were buzzing here and there, all obviously working under peer pressure, as both Covid and non-Covid patients kept on coming for their aid.

Thankfully for my part, all I needed to do was to show them the ID that Seventy-One had given me, the “proof” that I’m “immune” and can never be sick.

It only took me two minutes before finally reaching the receptionist.

I just hope that those strangers weren’t at all messing with me.

“Hi, good morning!” the receptionist, a middle-aged African-American woman, greeted me with a charming smile. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” I greeted back, a little bit meeker than what I’ve expected it to be. “I’m looking for a woman who just came in a couple of days ago. She—uh—she’s the patient who’s really, really, _really_ battered and is—um—missing three fingers.”

The receptionist looked at me for a while before taking her glasses off her face. “A woman who’s missing three fingers? Wait, hold on,” she said, waving her hand by her face. “Are you saying that you’ve only decided to come visit her today after dumping her by the main entrance for almost a week ago?”

I goggled at her, surprised. “Dumping her?”

“Yeah!” the woman replied with a sigh, obviously displeased with my reaction. “We just saw her right there on the ground. Cold, bloody and unconscious. All alone.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “I-is she okay?”

“I don’t know!” the receptionist said, shrugging. “Everyone was on high alert after seeing her, you see. All I know is that she’s at the ICU right now.”

“The ICU…” I suddenly felt queasy. “W-what did she look like? I mean, when you saw her, out there, for the first time… Was she pale? Was she shaking? Was she ice-cold?”

“Whoa, girl! Hold your dang horses,” she told me with a raised brow. “Why are you so dang concerned about this woman? Who is she, your girlfriend or something? ‘Cause girl, you ain’t going anywhere near her if you tell me nothing.”

“She’s my little sister’s babysitter,” I lied.

“Your little sister’s babysitter,” the receptionist repeated while giving me a look of distrust, obviously not buying my excuse (yet, I hope). “Uh-huh. And how did you know that she’s lost three fingers?”

“My mom was calling her non-stop within the past few days,” I said, now quickly forming a scenario in my mind. “Strangely enough, she doesn’t pick up. I mean, Aizza’s not the type of person who loves messing with people’s heads by not answering any of their calls. Believe me, I know. She’s been babysitting my sister for two years, now. She’s… She’s a cool big sister figure not just to my sister, but to me, as well.”

“Hm. Adorable,” the receptionist said, shrugging again.

“Mom was so worried that she began asking the whole neighborhood about Aizza’s whereabouts,” I added quickly before she could even say anything else that could totally destroy the mood. “Unfortunately, none of them really knew. Mom was already on the verge of freaking out, so I had no other choice but to take a break from school for a bit and—”

“Take a break from school for a bit?” she asked, surprised. “Wait, how old are you, exactly?”

Ick. Time for the baby-faced lie. “Fourteen.”

“And from what grade are you?”

“Eighth grade.”

“Does your mother know?”

Pausing for a good twenty seconds, I did my best to look guilty. “No.”

She looked terrified. “How about your father? Does he know?”

Again with the guilty face. “No… No, none of my folks know anything about me skipping school just to look for Aizza.”

She was drop-dead mortified. Looking around for a bit (as if she’s afraid that someone was listening), she leaned on the counter just to get a little bit closer and spoke in a soft voice. “Sweetie, don’t you have any idea how dangerous it is for someone your age to go walking around the streets without parental supervision?”

I said nothing.

“Honey, you’re too young _and_ too pretty to be on your own!” she added swiftly, her eyes wide. “Besides, you’re obviously missing a lot from school!”

“Aizza’s life is much more important than school,” I pressed. “I mean, I’m a straight-A student, so—”

“That isn’t the point, honey! There are a lot of predators out there, too, you know!” she told me, alarmed out of her wits.

Okay, this conversation was taking me anywhere but the ICU. “Look, I got the info from a gang of four men that I met at a diner this morning. They kinda saw me browsing the web about the latest N.Y.C.P.D. cases, so—”

“Four men?” The receptionist placed a hand on her chest. “My word!”

“Yes, four men,” I agreed, my patience now slowly inching its way towards the glorious evolution that would eventually transform it into impatience. “They told me something about seeing a bloody woman limping her way out of the sewers. They said that they tried talking to her, but then she passed out. They had no other choice but to bring her to the nearest hospital to seek medical attention but freaked out after realizing that she’s got three of her fingers chopped off. They also added that they’re scared of the possibility of becoming the prime suspects of the case, so they eventually ended up with the idea of just leaving her here.”

“My god…” she said, now on the verge of tears.

Okay, now’s my chance.

“Can I see her? Please?” I asked softly. “Look, I promise that I’ll head off to school after this!”

“Promise?” the receptionist raised her brow.

Heh. Nope. Sorry, lady, but I’m in college, now.

I nodded. “I promise. And I’m betting my lunch money on it, too.”

“All right. Wait one moment.” She raised her index finger to my face before leaning back into her chair and calling a colleague for help. “Hey, Ivy? Can you escort this girl to the ICU unit for a bit?”

A young redheaded nurse then came walking towards us. “Which one?”

“The one with the poor lady who’s lost three fingers,” the receptionist replied.

“Oh,” Ivy said, nodding. She then turned to me with a sympathetic smile. “Come on, then.”

∞

I told Ivy the same exact lie that I told the receptionist while walking our way towards the ICU unit that held my cousin (I hope). Thankfully, she instantly believed any word that came out of my mouth and was now beginning to cry.

“You’re still fourteen?” she asked, sniffling. “God, you are so matured! Beautiful, too!”

I almost lost my footing. “T-thank you.”

“I can’t believe that you’re more than willing to skip school just to find your sister’s babysitter!” she added, now wiping a stray tear off her cheek. “That’s just… I’m sorry. That’s just so sweet of you.”

“It’s only natural, I guess,” I shrugged. “I mean, Aizza loves my family, so we love her back. She’s also done a lot of sacrifices for us in the past, so…”

“So you’re more than willing to do anything just to repay her kindness,” Ivy finished for me, her lips’ sides twitching upwards into a sad smile.

I looked down at my feet. “Yeah.”

“Oh! We’re here!” Ivy announced while placing her hand on the knob. Turning it, she slowly swung the door open, walked in and gestured for me to follow her, which I did.

I began crying the moment I saw my cousin laying on the bed, the entirety of her body covered in bandages. She’s clearly unconscious, but her heartbeat, by some miracle, was thankfully stable. Covering my mouth, I slowly sank on my knees as I let my tears do their work. “Oh, god!” gasped, my face now redder than a beet as I let the saline liquid stream down my cheeks. “She’s—Aizza is—”

“She’ll be fine, sweetie,” Ivy said while gently rubbing my back. “Don’t cry.”

I sniffed and hurriedly wiped the thin line of mucus (that was now beginning to flow out of my right nostril) away with the cuff of my hoody before she could even notice. “A-are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m positively sure.” Ivy then pulled me back up to my feet. “I actually salute those men, whoever they are. I mean, they’re really quite good with the first aid. As if they know a thing or two about the medical field.”

“What do you mean?” I slowly asked while taking my glasses off to wipe my tears away with the back of my hand.

“Well, all of her wounds were covered with clean cloth when we saw her,” Ivy replied, obviously curious about the identity of my cousin’s saviors. “They’re all thoroughly cleaned, too.”

“God,” I snuffled while covering my face with both hands. “I’m so sorry…”

“Do you want to leave her a message?” Ivy asked me gently.

I nodded, taking my hands off my face and wiping them dry at my sides. “Yes, please. Uh…” I paused as I let my bag slide down to the floor before rummaging through my stuff for a pen and paper. “Pen and paper… Pen and paper… Ah, there you are!”

Pulling the said materials out of my bag and hurrying off towards the side table, I moistened my lips for a bit and started to write.

**Hey, there, smarty-pants. It’s me.**

**Look, you don’t have to worry about the bill. My family will pay it full for you in a flash. What happened to you, exactly? I mean, seeing you in this state is more than enough to drive me insane! You’ve also lost three fingers, what the heck! Does that mean that you can’t tutor Lizzie, anymore? I mean, you ARE right-handed, so…**

**Anyway, I hope that you’ll get better soon. Have faith, Aizza. Oh, Mom has also sent a bunch of have-you-seen this lady fliers to a lot of people, both neighbor and non-neighbor, just for them to see how much we care for you. It was pretty embarrassing, really. I mean, wow! To give out those many fliers to random persons that you’ve barely talked with? Awkwa-a-a-a-a-ard! Her concern is totally at another level!**

**That’s all that I have for you today, Aizza. Please, get well soon. And always remember that we all love you!**

The message that I wrote was obviously long and immature, but the _real_ message was clear:

**Hey there, smarty-pants. It’s me.**

**Look, you don’t have to worry about the flash drive, anymore.**

**I have sent it to her.**

**That’s all that I have for you today, Aizza. Please, get well soon. And always remember that we all love you!**

I slowly folded the paper into a tiny square and placed it on the table.

 _Let’s just hope that she’ll wake up, soon,_ the inner me said as I gave my cousin one last look before leaving.

A lot of thoughts were now screaming at each other inside my head. Were those gunshots meant for _them_ instead of my cousin? Was my cousin’s screaming her way of telling _them_ to go away and save themselves or something? Did _they_ kill my cousin’s pursuers before things could get worse? Did “Raph” separate himself from the group just to take my cousin out of the sewers when he’s got the chance?

And with my cousin alive and taken care of in the hospital…

Was that the sole reason for “Leonardo” to be so cocky?

 _A deal’s a deal,_ I thought, my expression grim. _The flash drive is now theirs to keep. Let’s just hope that they’ll stay true to their word._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... No, the nurse isn't inspired by Poison Ivy's character, if you're wondering.


	21. 19

I hurried out of the building before anyone else could even notice a “middle schooler” waltzing around within its walls even though she was supposed to be at “school” and be the “good kid” who’s believed to make Mom and Dad proud.

Okay. Aizza’s alive and safe. For now.

I pulled out my phone from my bag and dialed Maxwell’s number. I already saw what I came for, so I’ve no other reason to stay here and watch the patients as they come and go with their families. And hey, if I stayed here for another minute or two, it’s a hundred-percent positive that both Ivy and the receptionist would raise their brows. After all, I _did_ promise the receptionist about “heading off to school” after seeing my “little sister’s babysitter”.

I had to wait for a good eighteen seconds before Maxwell answered. _**“Yeah?”**_

“Yo, dude,” I greeted half-heartedly as I quickly made my way to the sidewalk. “You still at the café?”

_**“Nope. Big brother just called. The public library, he said,”**_ Maxwell replied slowly, obviously cautious with his choice of words. _**“Why? Do you want me to buy you a box of pastries or something?”**_

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks,” I replied, now on the sidewalk and scooting my way through the bustling crowd of New Yorkers. “I’ll just call you later, okay?”

_**“Okay,”**_ Maxwell huffed. **_“Don’t get lost!”_**

He then hung up.

I let out an amused sigh. Dude, it’s daytime! How can I get lost? And why, of all the snazzy places found here in New York City, did Jackson choose the public library as the spot for us to regroup? Because, if I can remember correctly, Jackson’s (both his elementary and high school selves) got this strange “allergy” to libraries, saying that he would rather sneak out and join a rave rather than sitting still beside random strangers and read.

Well, people change their preferences when they age, I guess.

But why so sudden? Did he notice something so weird that it instantly piqued his interest?

_And that price is?_ Jackson’s words suddenly popped out of nowhere within my head.

The “Leonardo” dude’s cocky chuckle came next. Oh, wow. Great job, Thalia. You’ve just walked straight into their trap. You’ve got no other choice now but to give them the flash drive, now.

It’s a big oh no for me.

Hey, could that be the reason for the regrouping?

If that’s the case, then, make that a bigger oh no.

Curses.

As if on cue, my phone rang, with Jackson’s name displayed on the screen.

I, of course, was pretty much hesitant to answer, but at the same time, I didn’t want to face the possible nasty consequences if I didn’t. So, I chose to do the safest option. I answered the call, my voice (forcibly) relaxed. “Yo.”

_**“Hey,”**_ Jackson replied, his tone a bit hushed. I’d say that he’s already at the library, now. _**“Just got out of the hospital or still in the hospital?”**_

“Just got out of the hospital,” I said, my pace now hurried as I crossed the street with a bunch of people. “Just called Max, too. The public library?”

_**“The public library,”**_ Jackson confirmed. _**“Don’t get lost, Auntie.”**_

He then hung up.

Seriously, what’s with those two? I mean, it’s daytime, for Pete’s sake! If they’re worried about me, then they could at least ask me about my current location, tell me to wait, and pick me up.

If we didn’t have any enemies waltzing around, that is.

I let out a sigh and hailed myself a cab. “The New York Public Library, please.”

Both Maxwell and I regrouped at the building’s main entrance and made our way towards the beautiful Rose Main Reading Room, where Jackson, according to Maxwell, was waiting for us.

The room’s flashy interior left my jaw hanging. I’ve seen it many times before in both movies and magazines, but seeing it for the first time in person instantly made me feel like I was on cloud nine.

Maxwell had no other choice but to pull me along by the hand as I stared at every detail like a frightened owl.

I only managed to snap back to reality when Jackson snapped his fingers a couple centimeters away from my face.

“What?” I asked him, my brows furrowed.

“Oh, good,” Jackson cleared his throat. “You’re still with us.”

I scoffed. “Well, obviously!”

An old lady who’s found occupying the table at our right slowly turned her head towards us with a scowl. She then quickly pulled her glasses off her face and angrily pointed a shaky finger at me. “This is a library, young lady! Not a classroom for delinquents such as yourself!”

Ah. A Karen of culture, I see.

“Sorry!” I said, my voice now lowered in volume.

“You must be!” With a humph, the old Karen (er, lady, sorry) got up and marched away, her heels clacking noisily against the floor as she made her grand exit (sheesh, and _she’s_ the one who’s saying that the place is a library).

“Now that’s one heck of a Karen-ish walkout,” Maxwell said, chuckling. He then cleared his throat to calm himself down and pulled out the chairs for us to sit on (the two of us were found sitting beside each other while Jackson was found sitting in front of us). “Okay, then, big brother. What is it?”

Jackson pressed a finger on his lips and carefully placed a newspaper clipping on the table for us to see. “Read it.”

“‘Karlos Zytrez, a lucky man blessed with endless wealth and women. Could he be New York City’s own version of Donald Trump?’” Maxwell read, an eyebrow raised. “Wow. Talk about exotic family names.”

“No, not that!” Jackson huffed. He then impatiently pointed at the fourth part of the article. “This!”

I pushed my glasses up to the bridge of my nose. “‘Zytrez’s family was once rumored to have formed a strong connection with the Mafia. Some believed that this connection later on became the main source of Zytrez’s wealth and power, which was then proven to be false by no other than Zytrez himself.’”

“So?” Jackson asked, now impatiently tapping his fingertips on the table. “Does that ring any bells for you, guys?”

“Varone’s one of the Mafia’s bigwigs,” Maxwell said, humming. “And this… This article was written just… Just eight months ago?”

“Karlos Zytrez… I’ve heard that name somewhere, before.” The gears in my head were now turning wild as I forced myself to remember. “Say… Is he, like, some kind of celebrity or something?”

“No,” Jackson shook his head. “Let’s just say Mr. Zytrez is the owner those outrageously expensive nightclubs found all over New York. So expensive that only the bigwigs of the planet could get in and get wasted with the stuff that they serve inside.”

Whoa. I almost forgot that Jackson’s mind is dangerously sharp when he (finally) decides to get serious.

Maxwell’s, too.

“I see,” Maxwell rubbed his chin. “High-end nightclubs are obviously the best places for those spoiled rich people who wants to have themselves fucked up ‘til morning, but… But they’re also the best spots to cover the world’s biggest underground deals because of the class limitation.”

“Exactly,” Jackson crossed his arms. He then turned to me. “Hey, Sakura. What was Varone’s surname, again?”

“Parlapiano,” I replied.

“He’s been giving music a bad name, I see,” Maxwell stated.

I let out a sigh. I can’t believe this guy.

“Great, we’ve just gotten ourselves a lead.” Jackson moistened his lips in triumph. “Speaking of leads… How’s the meetup?”

Uh-oh. Here we go.

“He wants to keep the flash drive for himself,” I told them, my eyes focused on the letters found printed on the clipping.

My nephews stared at me in silence for a whole minute.

Jackson blinked a couple of times before shaking his head in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, he wants to keep the flash drive for himself,” I repeated, slowly, desperate to avoid eye contact.

Maxwell was the one who voiced his confusion next. “Why?”

“For further investigations,” I explained, forcing my brain to do a replay on the “Leonardo” dude’s words and making an impromptu story out of it. “He told me that he wanted to know more about the enemy. About the possible openings that he could make for us to advance further. To learn more about the enemy’s main goal.”

Jackson was now alarmed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’s the flash drive? Did you give it to him, already?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s still with me.”

The two men let out sighs of relief.

“Lovely,” Maxwell said, rubbing his temple.

“But guys, listen… I can’t decrypt the damn files. The Trojan is strong enough to wreck the entire computer. This might be our only chance of knowing whatever’s in that device!” I pressed.

“What if the dude’s a double agent?” Jackson frowned. “Sakura, we can’t trust him. It’s just too risky!”

“A risk that I’m more than ready to take,” I told him, firmly.

My nephews were speechless.

“I’ll meet up with him again,” I added, obviously deciding to use their silence as the sign to continue talking. “Tonight. He gave me his word and I gave him mine.”

“Sakura,” Jackson called, his voice deep and his face solemn. “Are you really sure about this?”

“We don’t really have a choice, buddy,” I replied with a sigh. “Let’s just hope that he’s not lying. If he is, well… We’re doomed.”


	22. 20

Fast forward a bunch of hours later.

It was now ten minutes before midnight.

I’m back at the rooftop—again. With that burlap-thingamajig covering my head (these people might have a pretty big collection of this burlap material)—again. And with the “brothers” circling me like a school of piranhas—again.

“Saw what you’re looking for?” “Leonardo” asked me, his deep voice dripping with satisfaction.

I let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Great. You know what that means, then?”

Another sigh. “Yeah.”

“Mikey” chuckled from somewhere behind me. “And who gets to bring the bacon home?” He paused for a bit. “Dibs!”

The other three groaned in annoyance.

“No, Mikey. You can’t,” “Dee”/“D” said with a sigh, his tone both annoyed and impatient. “Everybody in the family knows that it is _you_ who messes up a lot, so it’s obviously a big, fat ‘no’ for you.”

Oof. That’s harsh.

“Hey!” “Mikey” sounded like he just discovered that the milk has gone sour. “I’m not a kid anymore, thank you very much!”

“Shut it, will you?” “Leonardo” sighed. He then cleared his throat. “So, miss… About your—”

“Here,” I said, cutting him off, while pulling the flash drive out of my pajama’s breast pocket and holding it in front of me (well, I _can’t_ see anything, thanks to this bag that they’ve placed over my head). “A deal’s a deal. You gave me what I want, so I’m now giving you what _you_ want. Go on. Take it.”

“Dibs!” “Mikey” yelled from somewhere behind me.

Before I could even blink, the flash drive was now no longer in my hand.

“Mikey” groaned. “Hey!”

“I told you—you can’t!” “Dee”/“D” barked.

“Whoa, hold on,” “Raph” began. “Is that even the real thing?”

I snorted, suddenly feeling offended. “Well, _excuse me!”_

“Leonardo” didn’t even let me continue my rant. “Donnie?”

Wait, who? What?

A dim, blue light shone somewhere at my left.

“Yep, it’s legit,” “Dee”/“D” said in reply.

“Honest, eh?” “Leonardo” hummed. “How adorable.”

I felt my eye twitch. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, chuckling. “Well, you have our word. Donatello will send you the files—” “Leonardo” then paused, as if he’s expecting someone else to finish the sentence for him.

“Tomorrow,” “Dee”/“D” said, finishing the sentence. “I’ll send them to you tomorrow. Does that sound good?”

I suddenly found myself at a great loss for words. Can he seriously decode all those files in just a few hours? I mean, he can’t be Einstein’s reincarnation, now, can he?

“Dee”/“D” chuckled. “I’ll be taking that as a yes.”

Huh. I must’ve been quiet for a while.

“Okay,” I said, letting in a shaky breath. “I’m expecting you to send me the files in a few hours, then.”

“Deal,” “Leonardo” said, his tone firm. “It’s fun having business with you, Thalia.”

I froze. How in tarnation did he know my name?

_How did he know my name?!_

“Who?” I asked, my pulse quickening.

No response.

With a groan, I pulled the burlap-thingamajig off my head and sighed after realizing that I was alone—again.

However, one thing was certain—the four of them knew my real name, which was never a good sign to begin with.

I grumbled under my breath and decided to head back to my nephews’ apartment to call it a night.


	23. 21

“Thalia?”

I snapped my eyes open, suddenly finding myself back in the real world. Maxwell was looking down at me while holding a cup filled with an unknown steaming liquid with a smirk. Noticing the bright, morning light that was shining through my window, I instinctively reached out for my phone to check the time. 9:56 AM. Why was I not surprised?

“Morning, sleepyhead,” my nephew greeted me with a snicker, tapping the said liquid vessel against my cheek (which, strangely enough, was quite comforting). “Here. Got you some cocoa.”

“What for?” I asked with a yawn as I scratched my head.

Maxwell let out a sigh. “Bro. Just drink it, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” I said, now rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “Just put it on the desk, please.”

“Got it.” My youngest nephew then made his way to the door after putting the cup down on the desk (where my—no, wait, it’s Maxwell’s, sorry—PC should be). “Jackson already made breakfast, if you’re wondering.”

“Yep, I can tell,” I nodded right after the scent of bacon wafted its way into my nostrils. I then let out another yawn—a louder one, this time.

“Should’ve brought you coffee,” Maxwell grumbled as he walked out of the door.

Yep. You should have.

A hefty burger would be nice, too.

Groaning, I rolled out of my bed and groggily made my way to the comfort room to brush my teeth. That was when I made my first mistake of the day. The moment my fingertips made contact with the water, the electrifying ice-cold feeling suddenly bolted its way into my fingers and up my arm, causing me to jump back with a shriek.

Naturally, my nephews came rushing in.

“What is it?!” Jackson asked me in panic the moment the both of them slammed the door open, his eyes wide.

“Lia, you okay?!” Maxwell asked, his words rushed.

“The water!” I yelled while madly rubbing my fingers, desperate to make them warm again. “It’s like ice!”

The both of them then looked at me as if I just sat on a whoopee cushion.

“Oh,” Jackson managed, obviously desperate not to laugh. “Just let the water run for a bit. It’ll warm up after a few moments.”

I was, of course, pretty skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Positive, yeah.”

Groaning, I stared at the water for a bit before deciding to put my pinky under the gushing liquid. And just as what Jackson said, the water’s now warm.

“See?” Jackson said, shrugging. “They just turned the heaters on an hour ago. It’s only natural for this season.”

I raised my brow, now in the midst of applying toothpaste on my toothbrush. “Wait, did you just say heaters?”

Maxwell smirked. “You’ll see.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Let me guess… Winter?”

No answer.

I looked at the doorway and sighed. My nephews left me hanging, again. Well, no surprise to that. The duo’s biggest hobby was to make me expect something to happen, however, due to some kind of hatred that the universe’s got towards me, this “something” doesn’t really occur no matter how long I wait.

Well, guess that I’ve got no other choice but to go out and see for myself.

Oh, speaking of waiting…

With my toothbrush’s head held tightly between my teeth, I quickly made a beeline out of the bathroom and to Ninja’s tank just to sprinkle turtle food tidbits into his tiny food bowl that served not just as the little guy’s hearty breakfast but also his lunch as well. Oddly enough, the red-eared slider was still inside his shell, obviously snoozing his head off (he’s never late for any of his meals) and prancing around his reptilian dreamland.

“Ninja,” I cooed while gently poking his shell with my index finger. “Hey, buddy, wake up. Your breakfast’s ready.”

The red-eared slider slowly moved his head out of its hiding place to look around his tank for a bit, before finally deciding to ignore his meal, slide back into the comforts of his shell, and return to dreamland.

To be honest, I was stunned by my pet’s sudden change of behavior.

“Really, bud?” I snorted. “You’re rebelling against my rules, now? Okay, then. Enjoy your turtle-y dreams.”

“Thalia!” Jackson called from the kitchen. “Food’s ready!”

I hurried back into the bathroom and spat the minty froth out. “Coming!” I yelled back while wiping my mouth dry with the sleeve of my pajamas and walked straight out of the bathroom to get my cup of hot chocolate from the desk. That’s when I saw it—the thick blanket of white covering almost everything outside. Those tiny flakes of white falling from the sky. No wonder Maxwell gave me a cup of the said beverage before I could even realize whatever’s going on with the weather outside.

I must’ve been frozen in place for a minute or so, because when Jackson yelled my name again, he didn’t sound too happy.

“Thalia!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” I said while rushing out of my room, my cup of hot chocolate in hand. “Sheesh, people! Can’t you see that it’s my first time seeing real-life snow?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s your first time. So what?” Jackson said with a huff, giving me the stink eye the moment I reached the dining room. “We’re gonna be late for work!”

Ah, right. Why do I always forget the fact that they’re gold collar workers? Silly me.

I gave him a look. “You’re leaving me alone?”

“We’ll be back before dinner, you big baby. Relax,” Maxwell said while pouring a hefty amount of maple syrup on his stack of pancakes. “It’s not like someone’s gonna purge you while we’re gone.”

“Ha-ha, like that’s gonna help me ease myself,” I rolled my eyes.

“Chill.”

“I _am_ chilling, dang it!”

“Guys, enough!” Jackson snapped, his big brother senses now tingling. “Thalia, look… I know that you want to explore New York a little bit more as an ordinary tourist, but I’m sorry. Really, I am. You know how us Americans are—we all work like dogs just to survive. So, all you gotta do is stay here and be a good girl. Uh, review your past lessons or whatever! Keep yourself busy!”

I raised a brow, my fingertips idly tapping against my cup. “And watch Disney flicks for the entire day?”

“And watch Disney flicks for the entire day! Perfect!” My oldest nephew looked pleased. “The safest option in the book!”

I rolled my eyes again. “What about my lunch?”

“Food delivery,” Maxwell said, now beginning to dive into his pancake stack. “Pizza Hut, Domino’s, anywhere that you want. The numbers are posted on the fridge.”

“Lovely,” I sighed. “Can I visit you guys in your workplace?”

The men were quite quick if it comes to replying. “Nope.”

I frowned. “Double lovely. I’ll just sit here and wait, then.”

“Good girl,” Jackson beamed, his chest swelling with pride. “Remember, Lia. Going out without our permission will only result to your doom. Have I made myself clear?”

I sighed. “Clear as crystal, Jax. Clear as crystal.”

Maxwell only nodded his head in satisfaction, his face stuffed with pancakes.

Heh. Sit and do nothing other than studying for the entire day? You wish!

Despite my nephews’ strict orders of me acting like a behaved little bean and staying at home for the entire day as I wait for them to get back from work, I decided to become the “rebellious little girl” who always puts fun and games first before diving into the serious stuff.

I’m a devil? Heh, you can say that.

Wrapping myself up in a bundle of warm apparel, I excitedly bolted out of the apartment, dashed in and out of the elevator, and hurried out of the building, only to accidentally step on a patch of black ice and found myself skidding my way towards the nearest parked car with a startled scream, only to end up hitting it with a sickening _thud!_

I wasn’t at all sure if I passed out due to the impact or not, because the moment I reopened my eyes, I was already flat on my back, with the people around now looming over me, concern found stamped on their faces.

A raven-haired woman with hazel eyes was the one who spoke up, first. “Honey, are you okay?”

It took me an entire minute of groaning before finally finding myself capable of answering something so simple. “I guess…”

A ginger-haired young man with glasses grabbed me by the armpits and hoisted me back up to my feet. “You better be more careful, kid,” he told me, his eyes narrowed. “Black ice is never a joke to begin with. You’re so lucky that this car stopped you from skidding your way into the street.”

“Sorry,” I managed, now painfully rubbing my behind. “It’s just… Um… I mean… I have to go to the library and—”

“The library? Oh, good lord!” It was an elderly woman this time. “And my grandson over here’s telling me that he’s got this weird allergic reaction if he touches a book!”

Her grandson, a blond boy who’s probably around five to seven years of age, made a face. “It’s true!”

“Can you walk just fine? Want me to call an ambulance?” asked a fellow Asian man.

“No, no. I can manage,” I said with a grunt. “Thanks for worrying, though.”

“You sure, honey?” the raven-haired woman pressed.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure.” I forced myself to smile despite the horrible pain that was now dancing on my face. Not just that, my front teeth (both upper and lower) hurt. Was I going to lose a tooth? Or, may heaven forbid, was I about to say goodbye to a couple of teeth?

“Your nose is bleeding!” a blond middle-aged man pointed out.

I instantly whipped out my handkerchief, placed it against my nose, and pressed my nostrils shut. “I’m okay!”

Quite unfortunately for my part, the people around just won’t stop urging me to go to the nearest hospital to see if I’ve gotten myself a nasty concussion or not despite my protests. Of course, I kept on pressing my own belief, saying that I’m fine and all, but still… The unwanted attention was just too much for comfort.

“Oh…” said a goth girl who’s probably around her adolescent years as she slowly picked something up from the snow. “Your glasses… They broke from the impact…”

“What?!” I whipped my head to her direction. Granted, my glasses, with its frame snapped into two at the bridge, were found resting on her pale palms. It’s a miracle that the lenses didn’t shatter into a hundred pieces the moment the impact happened that could’ve pierced my eyes. It’s a major _Great, my carelessness just gave me a reason to go to a sudden trip to the ophthalmologist!_ moment.

“Want me to take you to an eye clinic?” the Asian man asked me again.

I declined his offer with a (forced) polite smile as I retrieved my broken glasses from the goth teen. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m okay. I can still normally see stuff without them.”

“You sure?” The raven-haired woman was really persistent.

“Yeah!” Before they could even say anything else, I turned my back on them and hurried off, the snow crunching beneath my feet with each step. “Thanks for the concern! I really appreciate it!”

∞

Needless to say, I was lost—again.

I wasn’t at all sure how long I’ve walked and how many turns I’ve made, but the moment I looked at my watch to check the time, it was now almost two in the afternoon. My stomach was growling non-stop, my knees were starting to buckle from the exhaustion, and I was now standing in front of the glamorous Broadway Theater.

 _You should’ve listened to your nephews, idiot!_ the inner me snarled. _What are you gonna do now, huh? Watch the Broadway musical version of Frozen?_

Right, right. Shut up.

Realizing my mistake, I let out a sigh and turned to the street, obviously planning to hail myself a cab to head back home.

Moistening my lips, I pulled out my hand from my jacket’s pocket to raise it above my head and alert the nearest free cab, only to jump in surprise the moment my phone started ringing (and vibrating) inside my pants’ front pocket.

It was an unknown caller, but something tells me that this call was something that I should never miss.

“Hello?”

_**“You’re in trouble. You gotta do exactly as I say, okay?”** _

I frowned in confusion. “D?”

 _ **“Turn to your left and walk straight ahead,”**_ he instructed. _**“Now.”**_

“Okay, okay,” I said, slowly, and began to march to the said direction. “What’s this all about?”

 _ **“There’s no time,”**_ “Dee”/“D” said, his tone urgent. _**“Hurry. And don’t look back.”**_

Those words alone were enough to start the pumping of my adrenaline rush.

I doubled my walking speed. “D, what’s happening?”

 _ **“You’re after the underground Parteux Syndicate,”**_ “Dee”/“D” stated, his tone obviously not happy. _**“That’s all that matters. Now, walk straight into the first alley that you see.”**_

Okay, now _that_ sounded a bit too off to ease myself, but still decided to obey him nonetheless.

I widened my eyes, desperately looking for the said narrow street. When I finally found it, I started to act as if I was feeling sick and was now on the verge of vomiting before making a beeline into the area. There’s nothing really special in here. Just a bunch of graffiti found on the buildings’ rear sides, a rusty garbage bin brimming with smelly garbage, a dead end, and a… Oh. A manhole. How surprising.

I walked around for a bit, warily eyeing the graffiti on the walls.

“I’m here, D,” I told him. “What now?”

He was silent for a while.

_**“Sorry, Thalia.”** _

I widened my eyes. He couldn’t mean—

As if on cue, someone pressed a funny-smelling cloth against my nose and mouth before I could even have the chance to scream. I tried to fight back, desperately kicking at the air and clawing at the hands that seemed…well…that seemed _too_ huge for an average human being. A minute had barely passed when I finally began to suffer the odd smell’s effects. My vision was now getting foggier and foggier by the moment, along with the fact that my appendages suddenly losing their strength. I couldn’t do anything but fall limp into my attacker’s arms as my vision slowly faded to black.

“Sorry, kiddo,” a voice that sounded very much like the “Leonardo” dude’s own came next (although I’m not really sure, since my hearing’s also affected by my sudden helplessness). “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine soon. I promise.”


	24. 22

The putrid smell of the sewers was so strong that I woke up with a start.

With my eyes wide in panic, I sat up and looked around. If I could remember correctly, I was inside a makeshift bedroom with grubby posters of outdated rock bands and the like found posted all over the dull gray walls, as if the owner of this room saw them as the perfect substitute for a wallpaper. The area’s only source of light was a big neon sign that screamed **WE’RE OPEN!** found hanging on the wall at my left (right beside the bed that I was currently tucked in). Found posted on the door (that seemed like a huge safe door for me—you know, the one found in banks?) was a pair of long yellow tapes arranged in an “X” position, with the words **DO NOT ENTER** found printed on them in bold letters.

I then looked down, only to drop my jaw after realizing that my hands were tied together on my back with duct tape.

_Duct tape!_

Who in their right freaking minds would use duct tape to tie a helpless girl’s hands together while she’s out cold?

Scrambling out of bed, I sharply took in a breath and made my way towards the door before helplessly giving it a light push with my foot, obviously desperate not to attract any unwanted attention (like I did earlier in the day). Much to my surprise, it did move. I pushed it further while wincing, now more than ready to bolt off if things get loud. When the crack was now wide enough for me to squeeze through, I held my breath and carefully slipped out.

What I saw next really made me blink more than once.

It’s a makeshift living room, complete with a grubby sofa (that’s way too big for a small gang of sumo wrestlers), a good-sized center table (that kind of looked like it came from a scavenger’s nightly hunt for old furniture) that was littered with empty pizza boxes and crushed soda cans, and a bunch of working PC monitors at the rear end.

I warily approached the monitors, squinting as I looked at them to avoid the nasty chance of my eyes tearing up (yep, my eyes are quite sensitive if it comes to the usage of gadgets—hence the glasses). It only took me a moment to realize that they’re all showing live footage of the entirety of New York City.

“Just what is this place…?” I asked myself, my eyes still glued to the screens.

“Um, our home?”

Letting out a startled shriek, I turned to my heels (almost falling flat on my face due to the lack of balance) and mentally prepared myself for the possible worst-case scenarios. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to look!” I sputtered, my mind now running wild. I then tried to focus my gaze on the speaker despite the severe case of anxiety that I was suffering at the moment, which, needless to say, made my mind go blank in an instant. “I was just… I was just…”

Um, was this the Michael Bay museum, by any chance?

No?

Then why were there four six- to seven-foot-tall turtle-y men with brawny bodies that _perfectly_ (note on the emphasis) resembled the Bay Turtles?!

The colors of their masks match, too!

What was I seeing? _Just what was I seeing?!_

“Ha! I _told_ you that she’s a bona fide cutie!” said the shortest turtle-y man with the orange mask.

“Thalia,” the shorter turtle-y man with the blue mask began, obviously desperate to make his voice soothing enough to listen to. “I know that it’s weird, but you gotta stay calm, okay? Can you do that?”

“She’s losing it,” the tall turtle-y man with the red mask said with a huff as he crossed his beefy arms.

“Deep breaths, Thalia! Deep breaths!” cried the tallest turtle-y man with the purple mask (and tortoiseshell glasses). “Please, don’t faint on us!”

Without any warning, the world went black—again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY'RE FINALLY HERE, BABY!


End file.
